












# 


ft 


# 














% 





















N 


\ 









EVENINGS AT SCHOOL 



CLARA MARSHALL 

n 






NEW YORK: HUNT & EA TON 
CINCINNA TI: CRANSTON & STOWE 
1891 




V 




\o 


¥ 


Copyright, 1891, by 
HUNT & EATON, 
New York. 


07-<m7/ 


CONTENTS 


I. PAGE 

St. Mary’s 7 

II. 

First Impressions . ■ 12 

in. 

The Two Miss Dixons..... 17 

IV. 

Fine Feathers 23 

V. 

The Three R’s 29 

VI. 

The Three R’s. — (Concluded.) 34 

VII. 

Bertha, the Blue 39 

VIII. 

The Soul of Good Nature 44 

IX. 

Heaven’s First Law 49 

X. 

Idle Hands 55 

XI. 


Music. 


60 


4 CONTENTS. 

XII. page 

A Sense of Honor 66 

XIII. 

An Unfeminine Virtue 12 

XIV. 

Madame Candor 18 

XV. 

Well Enough for the Vulgar 83 

XVI. 

Mauvaise Honte 89 

XVII. 

That Dreadful Xannie Burt 95 

XVIII. 

That Dreadful Nannie Burt.— (Concluded.) 100 

XIX. 

Giggles 105 

XX. 

Winking and Blinking 110 

XXI. 

Bores 115 

XXII. 

Detur Pulchriori 120 

XXIII. 

False Witness 125 

XXIV. 

Godless Femininity 130 

XXV. 

Sue Mansfield’s Experience 135 


CONTENTS. 


5 


XXVI. PAGE 

Veneering 141 

XXVII. 

At Table 147 

XXVIII. 

On the Street-car 153 

XXIX. 

At a Restaurant 158 

XXX. 

At Church 163 

XXXI. 

Miss Particular 168 

XXXII. 

A Gentlewoman 173 

XXXIII. 

Skeleton-Closets 179 

XXXIV. 

Sympathy 185 

XXXV. 

Miss Clymer’s Valentines 189 

XXXVI. 

Poison Books 195 

XXXVII. 

Moi-meme 200 

XXXVIII. 

A “Game-make” 205 

XXXIX. 

That Heathen Chinee 210 


6 


CONTENTS. 


XL. PAGE 

Self-repression 215 

XLI. 

Old Mrs. Gummidge 220 

XLII. 

Consideration 225 

XLIII. 

A Female Humbug 230 

XLIY. 

The Weaker Sisters 235 

XLY. 

A Scion of Nobility 240 

XLYI. 

Deference 245 

XLYIT. 

Meaning Me 250 

XLYIII. 

Dollars and Cents 255 

XLIX. 

Eternal Friendship 260 

L. 


Letter- writing. 


266 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


i. 

ST. MARY’S. 

“ Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And days o’ lang syne ? ” — Burns. 

St. Mary’s Lad once been the home of the Sisters 
of the Holy Cross, and though it had long since 
been converted into a Protestant boarding-school it 
was on the outside still somewhat suggestive of a 
nunnery. It was an irregular, weather-stained brick 
building, thickly covered in some places with ivy, 
and the wall around its limited exercise-ground was 
so high as to cut off therefrom all view of the out- 
side world — a scarcely necessary safeguard, as the 
nearest town was more than a mile distant and the 
school building was surrounded by a forest of tower- 
ing pines, into the recesses of which few passers-by 
would care to penetrate. 

As a boarding-school St. Mary’s was popular, 
chiefly with country families who retained the old- 
fashioned prejudice against the distractions of city life 
for misses in their early teens, and it w T as always 


8 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


spoken of as a “ select school,” though, dear knows, 
we had from time to time some black enough sheep 
in our flock ! A flock of sixty-two it was when the 
house was full, and it usually was full from October 
to July. St. Mary’s made no pretension to higher 
education, if by this term we are to understand qua- 
ternions (whatever they may be) and Greek paradigms 
and other collegiate pinnacles of learning. Dr. Du- 
val, our principal, used to say he kept a girls’ school, 
not a female college, and so the curriculum was not 
an astonishing one, though four years of hard (femi- 
nine) study were required to master it. We had it 
impressed upon us by our principal that “ education ” 
was derived from educare , to draw out ; and I think it 
was his private opinion that the mind of the average 
girl cannot be drawn out very far. Mrs. Duval did 
not teach — that is, net in the recitation-rooms. What 
we learned from her was learned in the back parlor, 
where a number of us were wont to resort in the even- 
ing between the hours of tea and prayers. It saved 
the trouble of going up-stairs to our rooms and com- 
ing down again ; and, besides, we liked to talk to 
Mrs. Duval and play with her little children, whom 
she sometimes brought in to have a romp before being 
dismissed to the nursery. Dr. Duval seldom made 
his appearance at these evening gatherings, as at this 
time he was usually shut up in his study. He used 
to say that he studied harder than any one else in 


ST. MARY'S. 


9 


school, which assertion seemed scarcely credible, as 
we, his pupils, were confident he already knew every 
thing that was to be known. He could converse with 
Mr. Berger (professor of modern languages) in both 
French and German ; he could perform experiments 
in the laboratory as successfully as Mr. Richards 
(professor of chemistry, etc.) ; and if he could not 
make music like Mr. Haas (professor of piano and 
harp), he was quite competent to criticise the music 
that we made at our monthly concerts. We regarded 
him as an Admirable Crichton, and stood in great 
awe of him, though inside of his recitation-room it 
seemed only right and proper that he should be a 
standing encyclopedia, with a superb scorn for maps 
and text-books and a bewildering knowledge of every 
dynasty that ever existed in either Christendom or 
heathendom. He seemed to have a personal acquaint- 
ance with every prominent individual of history, from 
Adam down to Lord Palmerston, and (what I most 
admired in him) could keep distinct in his memory 
the Assyrian, the Babylonian, and other tiresome 
Eastern empires that were so badly jumbled in mine. 

Mrs. Duval, who was his second wife, had for- 
merly been his pupil, and a candid friend of the 
family once applied to them (so I was told) the lines 
of the poet : 

“ She knows but matters of the house, 

While he, he knows a thousand things.” 


10 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


Badly mistaken was that candid friend ! Mrs. Duval, 
though her knowledge may have differed from that of 
her husband, also knew a thousand things that have 
nothing to do with matters of the house. A Thou- 
sand Things Not Generally Known is, I think, the 
title of a popular recipe-book, and so Mrs. Duval’s 
knowledge may have been quite as truthfully labeled. 
When she imparted instruction in regard to these 
things it was done with such axiomatic force that I 
am sure that I, for one, remember her oral teachings 
far better than I do any chapter in Butler’s Analogy 
or Hallam’s Middle Ages. To be the gentlewoman 
that Mrs. Duval was requires a knowledge of rules 
that seldom tind their way into print, as they form no 
part or parcel of those wearisome etiquette books of 
which we have more than enough, and from which 
we, after all, learn so little. The parents and guard- 
ians of the St. Mary’s girls were all more or less in love 
with our principal’s wife, and I think it was as much her 
personal popularity as any thing else that kept the 
school so full. Mollie Archer’s father (Mollie was a 
classmate of mine) was a particular admirer of hers. 
“Mrs. Duval is so crammed down my throat,” com- 
plained Mollie one evening, after a visit from her 
father, “that if she were any one but Mrs. Duval I 
should hate the sound of her name. Papa says he 
doesn’t care a straw for accomplishments — that I may 
learn music and painting or leave them alone, just as 


ST. MART'S. 


11 


I please. He says he likes a hand-organ quite as 
well as he does a piano, and to him the chromos that 
come with a dollar magazine are as pretty as the finest 
oil-paintings ; that he does not affect to be a connois- 
seur in art, but he is a connoisseur in some other 
matters, and if I leave St. Mary’s without becoming a 
great deal more like Mrs. Duval than I am at present 
he shall consider the money it takes to keep me here 
quite thrown away. Think of that after the way I 
have practiced that everlasting Valse Styrienne and 
the extra time I spent on my last painting ! ” 

“ That’s just the way mamma talks,” observed Sue 
Mansfield (another of my classmates). “ It isn’t very 
encouraging, after working night and day for good 
marks, to have my report barely glanced at and then 
be informed that I am as irritable as ever, and shall 
never have good manners, like Mrs. Duval, unless I 
learn to control myself.” 

“ Mrs. Mansfield has discovered one of the secrets 
of Mrs. Duval’s popularity,” remarked Mrs. Southgate 
(our English teacher). “ She certainly has a wonder- 
ful power of self-control, and, besides this, she has the 
desire to please. Put the two together, and the natu- 
ral result will be good manners.” 


12 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


II. 

FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 

“ A dress well chosen or a patch displaced 
Conciliates favor or creates distaste.” — Churchill. 

“ I have just been introduced to the new girl,” ob- 
served Mollie Archer, as she came into the back 
parlor one evening and took her station so near the 
grate as to endanger the skirt of her new merino. “ I 
was coming from the dining-room and met her just 
outside of the door.” 

“ Who has charge of her ? ” asked Maggie Yates. 

“ Ilattie Hammond, I suppose,” replied Mollie, “ as 
she was taking her in to tea. It is strange I wasn't 
sent for to nurse her, in consideration of my new 
dress. Mrs. Duval noticed it this morning and said it 
was very becoming.” 

“ Yes, but that was early this morning,” remarked 
Laura Lamar. “ Mrs. Duval knew it had had time to 
become scorched and inky before the new girl arrived 
this afternoon, and she was afraid to have you in the 
parlor ; it might tell against the school.” 

“ Yes,” said Kate Drury ; “ I think Mollie must 
have put on a new dress the day I came ; at anj T rate 
she was sent for to receive me in the parlor, but by 


FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 


13 


that time there was a great ink-spot on the very front 
width of her dress. That was the first thing I noticed 
about her, and it is all I remember in connection with 
our first acquaintance.” 

“ You are disposed to be complimentary,” returned 
Mollie, shrugging her shoulders d la Madame Du- 
rand (one of our music-teachers). “ I put on my 
best manners that day, not for you, but for that 
brother of yours who brought you here, and I thought 
I was quite charming; but little minds like yours can- 
not take in any thing larger than ink-spots. When I 
first came to St. Mary’s the girl who received me was 
dressed to death; dear knows she had time to primp, as 
she was long enough in coming when sent for ! but she 
seemed to think that all she had to do was to look 
pretty ; at any rate she had nothing to say for herself.” 

“ What did you and she do ? ” asked Laura. 

“ She stared me up and stared me down again, 
while I sat still and was miserable.” 

“Was there any thing about you worth staring 
at ? ” asked Sue Mansfield. 

“ No,” returned Mollie ; “ I was wearing a travel- 
ing-suit of gray poplin, with a hat to match. Poplins 
were the rage at that time, so she must have seen 
dozens of girls dressed just as I was ; but before she 
left off staring I felt as if I were ‘ the great American 
gyascutusf or some other strange animal brought on 
for exhibition.” 


14 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


“ I was fortunate when I came,” observed Laura. 
“ I was just from the backwoods and ready to blush 
myself to death if any one looked at me ; and I sup- 
pose Mrs. Duval saw it, as she sent for Miss Clymer.” 

“ Miss Clymer nursed me too, and all homesick 
little wretches ought to be put under her care,” said 
Sue. “ She is the best parlor-girl in the house.” 

“ That is because she is so old,” remarked Maggie 
Yates. “And, besides, she has been in society, and 
some of the girls say she is engaged to be married.” 

“ I have seen other girls who are old and who have 
been in society,” returned Laura, “ but they are not 
like Miss Clymer. I thought, when she entered the 
parlor looking so tall and dignified, that she was one 
of the teachers, and as she came up to me I said to 
myself, i I know that’s the lady who is always brought 
up to the school as a model of graceful carriage.’ 
She had such a pleasant smile that I thought she was 
wonderfully pretty, and it was ever so long afterward 
before I could be convinced that there was nothing 
pretty about her except her eyes and teeth. I have 
read somewhere of an ugly man who £ could talk 
away his face in half an hour’ — John Wilkes I be- 
lieve he was — and I think Miss Clymer must be a de- 
scendant of his. She would be nothing whatever to 
look at if she had such backwoodsy manners as some 
of the rest of us have.” 

“ And I suppose some of the rest of us would be 


FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 


15 


as beautiful as angels if we had her manners,” rejoined 
Mollie. “ I should admire Miss Clymer immensely 
if Mrs. Southgate did not so often bring her up as a 
model. I hate models.” 

“ So do I, as a general thing,” observed Sue ; 
“ and I think it shows what an extraordinarily nice 
girl Miss Clymer must be to be likable in spite of 
being a model. It is a satisfaction, though, to know 
she isn’t any thing wonderful in the way of learn- 
ing or accomplishments. She is fearfully stupid in 
algebra, and I doubt if she will ever learn to play the 
Etude Mazourka without mistakes.” 

“ She doesn’t dress remarkably well, either,” added 
Maggie ; “ but when you talk to her you never think 
of what she has on. She is so good at making pleas- 
ant first impressions that I dare say the individual 
who gave her that solitaire ring fell in love with her 
at first sight.” 

“ How do you know it is an engagement-ring ? ” 
asked Sue. 

“ People say so,” replied Maggie ; “ and, besides, 
she wears it all the time, even when she has on that 
Old serge dress, which, of course, she wouldn’t do if it 
were not one of the kind of rings which must never 
come off.” 

“ I wish fon. girls could talk of something besides 
rings and engagements,” observed Mrs. Duval, who 
had come in while Maggie was speaking. 


16 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


“ We only touched on rings,” returned Maggie. 
“ We were talking about first impressions, and saying 
that making good impressions on new girls was Miss 
Clymer’s gift.” 

“ Don’t call it a gift,” said Mrs. Duval. “We can 
all make good first impressions if we try.” 

“ I can’t ! ” exclaimed Laura.. “ I am too outra- 
geously bashful. I have been so laughed at for 
blushing that when I begin to blush, which is usually 
the first thing I do when I have to speak to strangers, 
I feel that all is over with me, and I cannot say a 
word.” 

“ In short, you are thinking of yourself, and not of 
the comfort of others,” returned Mrs. Duval. 

“ As for me,” said Kate Drury, with a slightly 
superior air, “ when I go into the parlor I always think 
of the new girl, and not of myself. To use papa’s ex- 
pression, 4 1 take an inventory of her,’ and if there is 
any thing wrong about her dress, or if she makes a 
slip in grammar, or mispronounces a word, I am sure 
to notice it.” 

“ Your way is worse than Laura’s,” observed Mrs. 
Duval; “ and you break the Golden Rule, both of 
you — Laura in not trying to forget herself in order to 
make things pleasant for the new-comer, and you in 
treating her as you yourself would not like to be 
treated were you in her place.” 


TIIE TWO MISS DIXONS. 


17 


III. 

THE TWO MISS DIXONS. 

“ Some in velvet gowns.” — M other Goose. 

“ Now the school is as full as it can hold,” observed 
Mollie Archer, one evening in October. “ Those two 
sisters who came yesterday took the last two corners.” 

“ It is more than full, now that they have come,” 
sighed Laura Lamar. “ It is running over.” 

“ O, they are in your room, aren’t they, Laura ? ” 
asked Maggie Yates. “ You were complaining the 
other day of being lonely in a room by yourself, so I 
hope yon are satisfied now. They are uncommonly 
stylish-looking girls, both of them.” 

“ Stylish ! I should say so ! ” exclaimed Laura. 
“ Two immense Saratoga trunks apiece, and so many 
dresses that I am fairly crowded out of the ward- 
robe ! ” 

“ Dress is becoming to them,” observed Dora Gor- 
don. “ They both have tall, elegant figures, and carry 
themselves with an air.” 

“ O, yes, they are airy enough, dear knows,” re- 
turned Laura. 

“ Who are they ? ” asked Belle Templeton. “ Do 

they belong to a good family % ” 

2 


18 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


44 Say, yourself,” replied Laura, who was fined every 
day for using slang. “ They told me they had a cousin 
here some years ago, a Miss Georgina Metcalf. May 
be you knew her, as you are one of the old inhabit- 
ants.” 

44 Georgina Metcalf ? Ugh ! that places them ! ” ex- 
claimed Belle. “You remember Georgina Metcalf, 
don’t you, Mollie ? ” 

44 That I do ! ” replied Mollie. 44 She was put in 
my room the first night she came, and she kept me 
awake till twelve o’clock telling me about 4 par’s town 
house,’ and 4 par's country house,’ and the elegant 
receptions they used to have, and the beaus that used 
to torment the life out of her until 4 par ’ married 4 that 
woman,’ who came in and dispersed the beaus and in- 
sisted that Miss Metcalf must be sent to school, as she 
was quite too young to go into society. 4 Par ’ was 
immensely wealthy (to let Georgina tell it) — so wealthy 
that his daughter might, if she liked, have used five- 
dollar bills for curl-papers.” 

44 These vulgar girls always claim wealthy fathers,” 
observed Belle. 44 They think money is all that is re- 
quired to render them genteel.” 

44 The father of these Miss Dixons is really very 
rich,” said Dora Gordon. 44 1 heard Mrs. Southgate 
say that he boasts of the fact that twenty years ago he 
worked ten hours a day in a stone quarry, and now he 
owns several oil-wells, each a fortune in itself.” 


THE TWO MISS DIXONS. 


19 


“ Mr. Metcalf was also a self-made man,” returned 
Mollie. “ I remember, when lie dined here one day, 
he informed Dr. Duval that he didn’t take much stock 
in book-learning, as his own education had cost next 
to nothing, and still he managed to pay his way as well 
as other folks ; in fact, a sight better than some what 
knew Latin and Greek.” 

“ One would suppose,” said Belle, “ that, being 
ignorant himself, he would have concerned him- 
self all the more about his daughter’s education ; 
but if he did it was labor lost, for she seemed deter- 
mined to go away from St. Mary’s as ignorant as she 
came.” 

“ What she didn’t know about dress wasn’t worth 
knowing,” observed Mollie. “ But she wouldn’t learn 
to paint because ‘ par ’ was going to buy ‘ lots of 
pictures’ when he took her to Europe; so there was 
no need of her painting any ; and, though she took 
music-lessons, she wouldn’t practice because she 
‘guessed par could always afford to hire first-class 
Eyetalian singing and playing for their entertainments 
at home.’ ” 

“ I have an idea these new girls are birds of the 
same feather,” said Sue Mansfield. “ They dress a 
great deal better than they talk and behave. I went 
to Laura’s room last night just before lights-out to 
borrow her smelling-salts, and the taller of the sisters 
became very sociable with me all of a sudden. 6 Lamar 


20 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


is a good girl, 5 slie said (leaving the Miss off) ; 4 yon 
ought to have seen her a while ago, down on her 
knees saying her prayers, and not sniggering once 
while she was at it, though Jennie and I done our best 
to make her. She has read her Bible, too, till she has 
got it to looking real shabby. Now, my Bible cost 
twenty dollars — the binding is all gold and velvet — 
and it looks as good now as it did the day my cousin 
Jemima give it to me.’ 

“ ‘ Don’t you ever read it ? ’ asked I. 

44 4 Bead it ? No, indeed ! ’ said she. 4 Don’t I 
hear Bible enough read at church every Sunday ? ’ 

44 Laura, there, was so shocked at this that she covered 
up her head with a pillow so as not to hear any more, 
but I had the curiosity to ask Miss Dixon how she 
came to know the price of her Bible. 

44 4 0, I found out where Cousin Jemima bought 
it, and went and asked,’ said she. 4 1 always want 
to know the price of things people give me, as I 
don’t care for any of your little, cheap, stingy 
presents.’ ” 

44 That’s Georgina over again,” said Mollie. 44 Al- 
ways harping on dollars and cents.” 

44 And clothes,” added Hattie Hammond. 44 When 
Miss Metcalf said of a girl, 4 She hasn’t a decent dress 
to her name,’ she expressed quite as much contempt 
as Belle does when she tosses her head and says, 
4 Ignorant, underbred creature ! ’ ” 


THE TWO MISS DIXONS. 


21 


“ How liberal Georgina used to be with her nega- 
tives, observed Bertha Holt. “She was apt to 
crowd them on every occasion. To have to listen to 
her conversation always made me feel as if I were in 
somebody’s kitchen.” 

“ Mrs. Trelawney v T as quite shocked the day she 
brought her daughters here and encountered Miss 
Metcalf in the parlor,” said Belle. “ She spoke of it 
afterward to mamma when she visited us during 
vacation.” 

“ And I remember,” remarked Mollie, “ that the 
disgust was mutual, for Georgina said to me the next 
day that ‘Them two new girls’ (meaning the Tre- 
lawney sisters) ‘didn’t seem to know nothing about 
dress.’ ” 

“ I hope you informed her,” returned Belle, “ that 
in the society in which Judge Trelawney’s family 
moved dress was not the standard of gentility.” 

“ No, I did not,” replied Mollie. “ What’s the use 
of talking Greek to people? Georgina might have 
been a little impressed if I had told her, as I might 
have done, that Judge Trelawney was one of the 
wealthiest men in the State; but even then I sup- 
pose she would have said, ‘Well, I think it is real 
mean in him not to let his daughters dress more 
stylish.’ ” 

“ The Misses Dixon are very' much like their 
Cousin Georgina,” observed Sue Mansfield, “and 


22 EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 

before long they will have made Laura exactly like 
themselves.” 

“ Perhaps so,” said Laura, meekly, “ but so far they 
have only made me sick ; and if Mrs. Duval doesn’t 
consent to my changing rooms with Emma Guice, 
who is crazy to get in with these new girls, I think I 
shall very soon die.” 


FINE FEATHERS . 


23 


IV. 

FINE FEATHERS. 

‘ What 1 Is the jay more precious than the lark 
Because his feathers are more beautiful ? ” — Shakespeare. 

“ Clothes ! clothes ! clothes ! ” exclaimed Mollie 
Archer, as she came into the back parlor one evening 
and found Belle Templeton and Maggie Yates in 
the midst of a discussion as to the most desirable 
material for a wrap. “ Some girls can talk of noth- 
ing else.” 

“ Now, Mollie,” returned Belle, drawing herself up, 
“ surely yon cannot accuse me of being so vulgar as to 
think and talk of nothing but dress ! ” 

“ Don’t snap my head off ! I meant no harm,” said 
Mollie. “Only when I came in you and Maggie re- 
minded me of Amelia and Jennie Dixon.” 

“ ‘ Amelia and Jennie ! ’ ” repeated Belle, scornfully. 
“ You seem to have grown intimate with them already. 
Your Dixon friends would be nobodies without their 
silk dresses and their trinkets; so no wonder they 
think of nothing but finery ; but the Templetons are 
an entirely different kind of people.” 

“Yes, I have no doubt Amelia Dixon would say 
the same thing,” returned Mollie. “ You may be sure 


24 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


she has her own opinion of a girl who has lived in a 
gray merino as long as you have. With her the com- 
mon people are those who don’t wear tine clothes. 
You see, different persons have different ways of 
looking at such matters.” 

“Yes; I have no doubt Miss Dixon and I have 
very different standards of gentility,” said Belle, draw- 
ing her head up still higher. 

“ And her standard is the standard of ‘ the many,’ ” 
observed Miss Bond, one of the English teachers. 

“Very probably,” returned Belle; “but the Tem- 
pletons don’t belong to ‘ the many.’ I doubt if there 
is a more exclusive family than ours to be found in 
the State. When mamma came to see us last week, 

and she and I went to X together, whom should 

we encounter on Main Street but this Miss Dixon, 
accompanied by two other girls, all three of them 
fashionably dressed, but swinging themselves about 
like kitchen-maids and talking loudly enough to be 
heard across the street. Well, as we passed Miss 
Dixon greeted me with, ‘Hello, Belle!’ whereupon 
mamma looked as if she were just about to faint. 
‘ Why, Isabel,’ said she, ‘is that young person one of 
your chosen associates ? ’ 

“ ‘ She is a St. Mary’s girl,’ replied I ; ‘ but I 
have never spoken half a dozen words to her in my 
life.’ 

“ ‘ I am afraid St. Mary’s isn’t so select as it used to 


FINE FEATHERS. 


25 


be,’ observed mamma. i There were no such vulgar 
girls there in my day.’ ” 

“Well, that is too good!” exclaimed Nannie 
Burt. “ Belle, will you be vexed if I tell you some- 
thing ? ” 

Of course Belle, being thus questioned, was obliged 
to promise that she would not ; but as Nannie Burt 
was famous for her utter want of tact we were sure 
there was something disagreeable coming; and so 
there was. 

“I heard Amelia Dixon speak of that meeting,” 
said Nannie, “ and this was the way she told the story : 
‘I was walking along Main Street with Jane and Til- 
lie Smith,’ said she, ‘ and who should I come across 
but Belle Templeton and her mar. Belle had on that 
same old gray merino she wears day in and day out 
at school, and her mar’s black silk was made in last 
year’s style. Well, some girls would have passed 
without speaking, but I was as friendly as if they 
had been dressed in the top of the fashion. I don’t 
believe I have got as much pride as I ought to 
have.’ ” 

“ I quite agree with her there,” exclaimed Belle, 
flushing up to the roots of her hair. “ A girl with a 
decent amount of pride would never have spoken to 
any one who has always kept her at arm’s-length as I 
have Miss Dixon.” 

“ She is a good, forgiving creature,” said Mollie, 


26 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL . 


“ and you ought to be grateful to her for her conde- 
scension. ’’ 

“ She certainly does deserve credit for her good nat- 
ure,” observed Miss Bond, as she watched the haughty 
toss of Belle’s head. “ Frorti her earliest years until 
she came to St. Mary’s she had probably heard money 
spoken of as the one thing to be desired ; for it is 
evident that the Dixons, unlike the Templetons, do 
belong to 4 the many,’ and naturally she respects fine 
clothes as the outward and visible sign of wealth. If 
you girls had ever lived anywhere except in your own 
homes and a select school you would be better able to 
appreciate the prejudices and opinions of what you 
call the common people.” 

“ I call them the jprofanum vulgus ,” said Bertha 
Holt, the only pupil in school who was reading Horace. 

“ I call them crackers,” said Laura Lamar, who had 
come from the mountains of Georgia, and was rather 
proud of her provincialisms. 

“I should call them by a French name if I only 
knew how to pronounce it,” said Maggie Yates. 

“You mean canaille , I suppose,” returned Miss 
Bond, “but that term hardly includes the whole 
class to which I refer — the great number of persons 
whom one meets in going about, as I have, teaching 
a while in some newly sprung up female collegiate in- 
stitute, and governessing a while in some family who 
have recently become rich and are striving with all their 


FINE FEATHERS. 


27 


might and main to be genteel. Here the Misses 
Dixon are the exception to the general rule ; but 
where I last taught they would have been only a fair 
specimen of the school in general.” 

“ How strange and uncomfortable you must have 
felt among such persons ! ” observed Belle. 

“ I should, at your age,” replied Miss Bond ; “ but 
during the years I have been teaching I have become 
quite accustomed to all sorts and conditions of girls. 
One thing was impressed upon me early in my expe- 
rience as a teacher, which was that the world in general 
is taken by appearances; so I have always paid suffi- 
cient attention to dress to pass muster among those to 
whom dress is every thing. Indeed, I was not long 
in learning that, take women as they come, a large 
majority of them are much better judges of clothes 
than of musical proficiency or general education.” 

“ Ugh, how I hate such uncivilized creatures ! ” said 
Sue Mansfield. 

“Hate them, or their opinions and prejudices?” 
asked Mrs. Duval, who had come in just as Sue was 
thus airing her sentiments. 

“ I don’t see how people can be separated from their 
opinions and prejudices,” was the reply. 

“ Then what is the use of a select school or a moth- 
er’s teachings at home? ’’asked Mrs. Duval. “You 
girls would all be savages if you had no such advan- 
tages, and would naturally respect only the things that 


28 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


dazzled your eyes. It is the province of education 
to transform little barbarians, caring only for get- 
ting and grasping and admiring nothing but feathers 
and finery into creatures distinguished from what 
Belle there calls ‘ the common herd ’ by the posses- 
sion of high principles, refinement, good-breeding, 
and culture.’ , 


THE THREE R'S. 


29 


V. 

THE THREE R’S. 

“ My wife could read any English book without much spelling.” 

— Vicar op Wakefield. 

“What do you think, girls ?” said Laura Lamar, as 
some five or six of us were gathered around the grate 
in the back parlor one cold evening in midwinter. 
“Maggie Yates has actually been crying because she 
has been taken out of algebra and put back into arith- 
metic ! It was at her father’s request, Miss Bond said ; 
so Maggie was obliged to submit, though it was hard 
to have to sew the back on her arithmetic that was 
broken off when she threw it across the room the day 
we finished 4 Promiscuous Questions.’ ” 

44 I know why she w T as put back,” observed Mollie 
Archer. “I went home with her last Friday, as you 
may remember, and that evening her father asked how 
she was getting along in arithmetic. 4 O, don’t men- 
tion arithmetic, papa,’ said she. 4 1 know all about that 
now. I went into algebra last week.’ 

44 4 So you know all about arithmetic, do you?’ 
asked Mr. Yates. 

44 4 Yes, I am sure I ought,’ said she, 4 after ding- 
donging at it ever since I can remember.’ 


30 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


“ i Then what would be five cents multiplied by five 
cents?’ was the next question. 

“ ‘ O, that’s easy,’ said Maggie. ‘ Twenty-five cents, 
of course.’ 

“Then you sliould have heard Tom Yates laugh! 
He is two years younger than Maggie, but they say he 
is well-advanced in mathematics. Mr. Yates laughed 
too, and remarked that he believed the Frenchman 
was right who said women should not learn the alpha- 
bet. But I suppose he thinks that since Maggie has 
learned the alphabet she ought to go on now and learn 
something more. Just among ourselves, I should have 
given the same answer she did ; but you may be sure 
that after hearing them laugh at Maggie I kept my 
mouth shut and looked wise.” 

“ Geography is always my bete noire at home,” ob- 
served Belle Templeton. “ I tried to impress upon 
papa last summer that I had been advanced from mod- 
ern to ancient geography, and really ought not to be 
bothered with questions concerning the length of 
American rivers or the population of our principal 
cities ; but he himself is a complete gazetteer, and he 
thinks it is perfectly shameful if I am not always 
ready to locate any town or mountain that he comes 
across in the newspapers. I informed him on one oc- 
casion that when we were examined in ancient geog- 
raphy I did not make a single mistake ; but that did 
not seem to increase his respect for me in the least. 


THE THREE R'S. 


31 


He said that any one could cram for an examination, 
but he should like his daughters to have a fair supply 
of general information for every-day use.” 

“ That is just the way in which my papa talks ! ” ex- 
claimed Mollie. “ I believe all fathers are alike in 
some respects. Papa says the three R’s are very 
much more important than the ‘ ologies ’ and nothing 
can cover a defective elementary education.” 

“What does he mean by the three R’s?” asked 
Fanny Templeton. 

“ Reading, ’riting, and ’ritlimetic,” replied Mollie. 
“ He says it is of much more importance to read well 
than to play indifferently on the piano, and to write a 
good hand than to draw amateurish pictures, and that 
mental arithmetic is much more useful to people gen- 
erally than logarithms or conic sections.” 

“ But writing and arithmetic don’t begin with R,” 
objected Fanny, who was the beauty of the school, but 
not remarkable for quickness of apprehension. 

“ O, that’s the way they were spelled by the man 
who first used the expression,” returned Mollie. 
“ Who he was I don’t know, and don’t care to know. 
I only know that I am dosed with those three R’s 
whenever I attempt to show off at home. I told papa 
last summer that they said at St. Mary’s I was im- 
proving rapidly in my French, and the reply he made 
was, ‘ I am sorry I can’t say the same for your En- 
glish.’ It is fortunate for me that I am sometimes 


32 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


praised at school, as I am dreadfully discouraged at 
home.” 

“ That is just my case,” rejoined Sue. “ When I 
asked mamma if I might study German this term she 
replied, ‘My dear, I’d so much rather you would 
learn English.’ Now if I used such grammar as those 
Dixon girls she might complain of me with some 
justice. I asked Amelia the other day if that friend 
of hers she speaks of so often was pretty, and she 
replied, ‘ No, she aint pretty, but she dresses beau- 
tiful.’ ” 

“Take care, Sue,” observed Mrs. Southgate, who 
came in just in time to catch this quotation. “I 
heard some one say to Theo Duval yesterday when he 
made the baby cry that if she were his mother she’d 
whip him good. It seems to me that other people 
sometimes use adjectives in the place of adverbs as 
well as Amelia Dixon.” 

“Well,” returned Sue, “ I am sure I never say done 
for did, or come for came, as those Dixons are con- 
stantly doing.” 

“ But you often, in a narration, say says for said” 
observed Mrs. Southgate. “ It is only carelessness in 
you, for I am sure you know better ; but you have 
more than once reminded me of the Widow Bedott : 
‘ ITe says to me, says he, “ ’Cilly,” says he ; says I to 
him, says I, “ What ? ” says I,’ etc.” 

“ At any rate,” exclaimed Sue, who was losing pa- 


THE THREE R'S. 


33 


tience, “I don’t say, ‘Me and Jennie are going to 
have some new dresses next week.’ ” 

“ Possibly not,” returned Mrs. Southgate, “ but you 
said to Mollie yesterday, ‘Have you heard Maggie 
and I play our new duet ? ’ Which is more incorrect, 
me in the nominative or / in the objective case?” 

“I give it up,” replied Sue, pouting. “Ask me 
something easier.” 

“Mrs. Southgate will always have the last word 
with one of us poor girls,” observed Mollie. 

“ I so dislike to hear you -criticise one another’s 
faults,” returned Mrs. Southgate. 

“ Why, that is a game that two can play at,” said 
Sue. “ I am sure that if the Dixons do not criticise 
my faults they have ridiculed my old Scotch plaid till 
I wear it now just to defy them.” 

“But they are very particular in regard to their 
own dress,” replied Mrs. Southgate. 

“‘I see, I see,’ said the little man, ‘yes, I see,’” 
quoted Sue. “You mean to insinuate that I should 
not criticise their grammar until I become more care- 
ful of my own.” 

“ Yes,” said Mrs. Southgate ; “ and I wish you would 
remember, too, that, however you may conceal from 
society your ignorance of other branches of education, 
you cannot open your mouth without betraying how 
well- or how slightly you are acquainted with Bindley 
Murray.” 


84 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


THE THREE R’S. — (Concluded.) 

“ Come, little children 1 Let me see 

If you can say your A, B, C.”— Nursery Song. 

A silence had fallen upon the company assembled 
in the back parlor one Sunday evening, which was 
broken by Mollie Archer’s observing, “ Amelia Dixon 
says — ” 

“ Stop,” interrupted Mrs. Duval. “ Cannot you try 
to be charitable on Sunday, if on no other day?” 

“ Why did you think I was going to be any thing 
else ? ” asked Mollie, somewhat abashed. 

u Because you always are whenever you speak of 
the Misses Dixon,” was the reply. 

u Well, then, I will say something complimentary, 
by way of a change. Those new dresses they wore 
in chapel this morning made them look like fashion- 
plate ladies.” 

“ But that wasn’t what you were going to say when 
Mrs. Duval stopped you,” observed Kate Drury. 

“ How do you know ? ” asked Mollie. 

“ You began with, ‘ Amelia Dixon says.’ ” 

“ She says their new dresses cost an awful lot of 
money ; but they can afford it.” 


THE THREE R ’S. 


35 


u Is that all ? ” asked Mrs. Duval. 

“ That wasn’t what I was going to say when you 
stopped me,” returned Mollie. “ I was about to re- 
peat what she said of the theologue, as we were com- 
ing out of chapel this morning.” 

“ Said of the what ? ” asked Mrs. Duval. 

“ The theological student who preached. Mrs. 
Southgate had remarked to Mr. Richards that he was 
an eloquent speaker, and Mr. Richards had replied 
that lie was a good logician ; and then Amelia, not to 
be outdone, observed that he had the prettiest foot 
she ever saw on a man.” 

“ And I suppose you will remember that speech 
longer than you will his text,” said Mrs. Duval. 

“ I don’t remember his text exactly,” returned 
Mollie ; “ but I know he said harass' for har'ass .” 

“ Throwing stones, as usual ! ” said Mrs. Duval. 
“If you go to the chapel only to criticise the sermons 
of those who very kindly come out to preach for us 
it would be better for you to remain in your room 
Sunday morning and read your Bible.” 

“ Great kindness ! ” returned Mollie. “ They come 
out here to practice, before they begin to preach in 
churches. I think it would be kindness in us girls 
to call their attention to tlieir mispronunciation. 
The one who came last Sunday — the one with 
little eyes and light hair — said ‘particular' and 
‘ con' template ’ and ‘ towards'] and made so many 


36 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


other mistakes that I wasn’t the least bit edified by 
his remarks.” 

“ So you don’t extole the sermon,” observed Laura 
Lamar, with malicious emphasis on the verb. 

“ After having been invagled into going to listen to 
it,” added Sue Mansfield. 

“ I suppose you won’t paytronize him when he 
comes again,” said Laura. 

These two girls were in a reading-class with Mollie, 
and had heard her corrected for these and various 
other mispronunciations. 

“ Proceed,” returned Mollie. “ ‘ Pm tough, and 
that’s one consolation,’ as old Weller would say.” 

“I am not often corrected in reading-class,” ob- 
served Laura ; “ but, among ourselves, I don’t believe 
I shall ever learn to spell. I haven’t any gift for 
spelling, and never think of attempting to write a 
letter without having a dictionary close by.” 

“I wish,” said Sue, “that it would come into fash- 
ion to spell as one pleases. It would save so much 
diving into the dictionary.” 

“ My brother tells me he has no use for a diction- 
ary when I am in the room,” returned Laura. “ He 
says, when he is uncertain how to spell a word in 
writing a letter, he asks me how it ought to be 
spelled, and doesn’t spell it in that way.” 

“Choose a more appropriate subject for Sunday 
conversation,” suggested Mrs. Duval. 


THE THREE R'S. 


37 


“ Speak of your ignorance of Scripture,” said 
Mollie. “ That is good talk for Sunday.” 

“ Throwing stones again, Mollie ? ” remarked Mrs. 
Duval. “ Who was it that accused Rachel of breaking 
the sixth commandment when she carried off your 
pincushion ? ” 

“ Well,” replied Mollie, “that wasn’t so bad as 
Nannie Burt’s reproving a whole roomful of us for 
breaking the eighth commandment when we were 
talking about the way in which that flighty Miss Smith 
used to carry on here before she was expelled. Do 
you remember that, Nannie ? ” 

“Yes,” replied Nannie, meekly. “I meant the 
ninth, but I never can remember just how they come.” 

“ Nannie remembers that she ought to give soft 
answers,” observed Mrs. Duval ; “ and I am afraid 
that is a scriptural commandment that some other 
girls are disposed to forget when they are ridiculed 
for their ignorance.” 

“ Speaking of the commandments,” said Mollie, “ I 
shall never forget how Carrie Westbrook turned the 
tables on us one day, soon after she came. She didn’t 
look as if she knew any thing, and so when she hap- 
pened to make an allusion to the eleventh command- 
ment we took pity on her ignorance and kindly in- 
formed her that there were only ten.” 

“ 4 Are you sure of that ? ’ asked she. 4 1 have 
always been taught that there were eleven.’ 


38 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


“ 4 Then jour teachers need teaching,’ one of the 
girls said ; whereupon Carrie gave her a pitying smile, 
and, opening her Testament directly at the place, just 
like a preacher, read : ‘ Behold, I give unto you an- 
other commandment, that ye love one another.’ ” 

“ Carrie was uncommonly nice,” observed Sue. 
“ She was such a blessing when I was backward with 
my Sunday-school lessons, helping me to find texts, 
and places on the map, and all that.” 

“ I asked her once to locate a text for me,” said 
Laura Lamar. “ I was sure it was somewhere in the 
Psalms, and could hardly believe her when she said 
it was not in the Bible at all — only in the burial serv- 
ice — 6 In the midst of life we are in death.’ ” 

“ My case was worse than that,” observed Maggie 
Yates, “and since we are all in the humor for confess- 
ing I may as well tell it. I took my Bible to her one 
day and asked her to show me the text, ‘He tempers 
the wind to the shorn lamb.’ She informed me that 
the author of that text was Lawrence Sterne, whose 
books ladies were not supposed to read.” 

“ I wish,” remarked Mrs. Duval, “ that you were 
all as familiar with the Bible as Carrie Westbrook. 
My brother’s tutor used to say that an acquaintance 
with Scripture was as much a part of a gentleman’s ed- 
ucation as knowledge of Homer and Virgil ; and I am 
sure if it is necessary to a gentleman’s education it is 
quite as much so to the education of a gentlewoman.” 


BERTHA , THE BLUE \ 


39 


VII. 

BERTHA, THE BLTJE. 

“ Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers.” — T ennyson. 

Bertha Holt was tlie most studious and best read 
girl in school, and, as Mollie Archer said of her, she 
had no idea of hiding her light under a bushel. She 
was so fond of tine language that her talk would some- 
times give poor irritable Sue Mansfield the fidgets. 
“ O, for pity’s sake, Bertha,” exclaimed the latter one 
evening (in response to a remark from the others) as 
several of us drew around the first fire of the season, 
“ if you mean you must buy some warmer dresses do 
say so, and don’t speak of replenishing your ward- 
robe ! You are so awfully hifalutin in your way of 
saying things ! ” 

Bertha only stared in reply, and did not speak 
again until she said to Mrs. Duval that, with her per- 
mission, she would retire at once, instead of waiting 
for the evening devotions, as she w T as not feeling well 
and feared she had febrile symptoms. 

After Bertha had left the room Sue broke out 
again with the exclamation, “ That girl never goes to 
bed — she always retires ! ” 

“ And she never attends prayers,” rejoined Mollie, 


40 


E VEXING S A T SCHO OL. 


“ only morning and evening devotions. It is a won- 
der she doesn’t say matins and complines.” 

“And she has febrile symptoms instead of being 
feverish,” complained Sue. “Bertha is as fond of 
show as Amelia Dixon, except that, in her case, it 
crops out in talk instead of clothes. She ought to 
have better sense, too, as she is as old the hills — nine- 
teen her last birthday, she admits herself.” 

“ Yes, and she has been out in society,” observed 
Maggie Yates. “ My brother Philip was surprised to 
learn she was at school here. When he was at col- 
lege in Y , two years ago, Bertha Holt had come 

out, and was so well known that the students used to 
tremble in their boots at the sound of her name. Her 
uncle was mayor of the city, and every body, high 
and low, rich and poor, visited at his house. The 
students used to go there to see his pretty daughter, 
and that was how they became acquainted with Bertha. 
She would question them about their studies and 
quote Latin to them, though, as Philip said, she might 
have known that students who go around visiting the 
girls are a very different sort from the men who study 
for honors and appointments. She asked a Soph one 
evening if he were an admirer of Locke, and he re- 
plied that he believed Locke was a very clever fellow, 
though he wasn’t much acquainted with him, as they 
roomed in different tenements. 4 O, I refer to Locke 
on the Human Understanding,’ said she. ‘Yes,’ 


BERTHA , THE BLUE. 


41 


returned he ; 4 1 suppose you have heard of Mrs. Pro- 
fessor Hart’s little joke when Locke apologized for 
stepping on her foot one evening in a dance ; she re- 
plied, “ O, no matter ! I admire Locke on the Human 
Understanding.” Mrs. Hart is a very tine woman, 
but her feet are large, and no mistake ! ’ On another 
occasion Philip overheard a confab between Bertha 
and a young fellow from the backw r oods. He was 
speaking of the importance of his family, and tell- 
ing her that his uncle, who owned a saw-mill, had a 
hundred regular hands, besides extras during the busy 
season. 4 A hundred hands ? ’ repeated Bertha ; 4 qune 
a Briareus ! ’ 4 Quite a what ? ’ asked the backwoods- 

man, whereupon Bertha had to explain her classical 
allusion. Pretty soon afterward this same man re- 
marked to her that most people considered Miss Kate 
Spriggs the prettiest girl in the Methodist College, 
but, to his mind, her sister Bessie was as pretty as 
a dozen of her. 4 De gustibus non disputandum est ,’ 
said Bertha; and then the young fellow flared up 
(it seems he liked Miss Bessie). 4 Well,’ said he, 4 1 
s'pose one lady has a right to call another lady dis- 
gusting, but if a man was to say that to me I’d punish 
him well.’ Then Bertha fired up in her turn and 
flounced out of the room, leaving her aunt to translate 
her Latin and make matters right with the visitor.” 

44 Bertha makes herself perfectly ridiculous when 
she talks to ignorant people,” said Sue. 44 You know 


42 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


Mrs. Scruggs, who sometimes does hue washing for 
me ? Well, the other day, when we girls were walk- 
ing out with Miss Bond, Bertha and I called at Mrs. 
Scruggs’s cottage to ask after her sick child. Mrs. 
Scruggs was standing in her door, and she said w T e had 
better not come in, for, though Betsy was getting well, 
it might not be safe. ‘You consider the disease con- 
tagious, then?’ said Bertha. ‘ I don’t know whether 
it is contagious or not,’ replied Mrs. Scruggs, ‘ but it 
is awful catchin’.’ ” 

“It is in dreadfully bad taste,” observed Belle Tem- 
pleton, “ to use any but the simplest words when 
speaking to uneducated persons.” 

“ And I think it is in dreadfully bad taste to talk 
about books to people that you know haven’t read 
them,” said Maggie Yates. “Bertha is always mak- 
ing me confess that I haven’t read this, that, or the 
other book ; and then she will say so innocently, ‘ O, 
haven’t you read it ? I quite envy you the pleasure 
you have in store! ’” 

“ She used to tread on me in that style till I turned 
again,” observed Mollie Archer. “ A cousin of mine 
in New York sent me a book fresh from the press. I 
glanced through it the evening it came, and the next 
day I attacked Bertha. You ought to have seen how 
shocked I looked when she was obliged to admit that 
she had not read Owen Meredith’s latest poems. I'd 
keep on forgetting this when she would begin to talk 


BERTHA , THE BLUE. 


43 


books, and then I’d envj her the pleasure she had in 
store until I made her life a burden. It is very well 
to be learned and cultured, and up in quotations and 
all that, but I think people ought always to remember 
whom they are talking to.” 

“ Yes,” said Mrs. Duval, who had been listening 
quietly to the foregoing discussion. “ Adaptation is 
an art that should be studied in order to avoid talking 
Shakespeare and the musical glasses to the wrong 
people.” 

“ Shakespeare and the musical glasses ? ” repeated 
Maggie Yates, looking puzzled. 

“ Why, is it possible, Maggie,” exclaimed Mollie 
(imitating Bertha Holt's manner), “ that you have not 
read the Vicar of Wakefield? I quite envy you the 
pleasure you have in store.” 

“ I have read it,” said Sue, “ and I remember the 
fine ladies from London who astonished the vicar’s 
family’' with their airs and graces and their talk about 
Shakespeare and the musical glasses.” 

“ It is best never to try to astonish people,” ob- 
served Mrs. Duval. “ When we are in the company 
of those who are as well read as ourselves it is proper 
enough to introduce literary subjects ; but with those 
who are not, by all means let us choose some other 
topic of conversation, even if we should be obliged to 
fall back on the weather.” 


44 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


VIII. 

THE SOUL OF GOOD NATURE. 

“ Yet do I fear thy nature; 

It is too full o’ the milk of human kindness.” — S hakespeare. 

“Well, Dora, you are too good-natured to live,” 
exclaimed Maggie Yates one cold evening, as Dora 
Gordon relinquished a comfortable seat near the grate 
to Laura Lamar, who had come in shivering and 
grumbling about the weather, forgetting, however, to 
shut the door behind her. 

“ Good nature does not kill people,” observed 
Mollie Archer, “ or I should have been dead long 
ago.” 

“I am not good-natured,” said Sue Mansfield. 
“Good nature is a niminy-piminy kind of virtue. 
Don’t you think so, Mrs. Duval? ” 

“ It is one that is apt to get people into trouble if 
they indulge in it too freely,” was the reply. 

“It wont get Dora into trouble, her giving me 
this warm corner,” said Laura Lamar. “ On the con- 
trary, I am going to remember her in my will.” 

“ I think it more probable that you will show your 
gratitude by expecting her to give you the same place 
to-morrow evening,” said Mrs. Duval. “ I have ob- 


THE SOUL OF GOOD NATURE. 45 

served tliat such is the reward good-natured persons 
usually receive for their little sacrifices.” 

“You are quite right there,” said Maggie Yates. 
“ I take it as a matter of course when Dora helps me 
out of my ‘ partial payments ’ troubles ; but when Kate 
Drury once showed me how to work an example I was 
the most grateful person alive. Kate usually tells me 
that she hasn’t time, or says that if I had two grains 
of sense I could work my examples for myself, so I 
consider it quite an honor to have her condescend to 
help me; but if Dora were to talk in that style I 
should be dreadfully offended.” 

“ Good-natured people are always imposed upon,” 
observed Mollie Archer. “ Many a time have I put 
down my work to help some nincompoop with her 
French exercise, and all the reward I had for it was 
to have her back again the next day.” 

“ Served you right,” said Kate Drury. “ It is a 
girl’s business to write her own exercises, and it is 
doing her more harm than good to tell her the meaning 
of the words she ought to look in the dictionary for. 
I sometimes show Maggie how to work an example 
because I don’t care two straws whether she under- 
stands arithmetic or not ; but if I had a younger sister 
you may be sure she would have to work her examples 
for herself.” 

“ Kate, I do admire your delightful frankness,” said 
Maggie, blushing with vexation ; “ and you may rest 


46 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


assured I’ll never come to you again for help, as long 
as Dora Gordon remains at St. Mary’s.” 

“Yes, there it is!” exclaimed Sue. “Poor Dora 
teaches all the geese in the east wing, and doesn’t re- 
ceive any salary for it. If I were in her place I’d 
send my bill at the end of the term to Mr. Yates and 
various other papas that I could mention.” 

“ If I were in her place I should lock out Mag- 
gie Yates and all the other girls who tried to take 
up my study hours,” observed Kate Drury. “I 
doubt if half the time she is ever thanked for her 
trouble. Girls always know whom they may impose 
upon.” 

“ Yes ; I think girls, and boys, too, learn this very 
early in life,” said Mrs. Duval. “And they lose no 
time in making use of such knowledge. It is a great 
misfortune to be too good-natured.” 

“That it is,” sighed Maggie. “If I were not too 
good-natured Kate Drury would not talk to me as 
she does. She would not dare to insult Sue Mansfield 
in that style.” 

“ Not if Sue had dyspepsia, at any rate,” rejoined 
Mollie. “ It wouldn’t be safe.” 

“I say just what I think,” remarked Kate. 

“ We are all more polite to Sue than we are to other 
people,” observed Belle Templeton. “None of us 
care to have our heads snapped off.” 

“I believe I’ll try to contract dyspepsia,” said 


THE SOUL OF GOOD NATURE. 


47 


Maggie. “ I’d like to have people careful how they 
talk to me.” 

“ Suppose you try to cultivate self-respect instead,” 
remarked Mrs. Duval. “When girls have a proper re- 
spect for themselves I observe it lias a good effect on 
those around them.” 

“ Then Dora hasn’t proper self-respect,” remarked 
Sue, “or Maggie Yates and the rest of them wouldn’t 
bother her so.” 

“You are rather disposed to make personal appli- 
cations,” returned Mrs. Duval. “ I was not thinking 
of Dora when I spoke ; but I do think she would have 
more time for her own lessons if she would make the 
other girls understand that they must be prepared be- 
fore she undertakes to. help any one else. I know she 
learns with great quickness, but the trouble is that 
what comes quickly is apt to go quickly, and she 
ought to give more time to her lessons in order to 
retain what she learns.” 

“ And what ought I to do ? ” demanded Maggie. 

“You ought to leave Dora alone and work your 
examples for yourself. Your mind is entirely too 
indolent.” 

“ O, I didn’t mean that ! ” exclaimed Maggie. 
“ What I meant was, how ought I to cure myself of 
being too good-natured? Ought I to learn to snap 
people’s heads off when they are rude to me ? ” 

“ There’s where your indolence comes in again,” 


48 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


replied Mrs. Duval. “It prevents jour acquiring 
sufficient dignity of character to ward off rude speeches. 
In jour case good nature is only another name for in- 
dolence. To hold one’s own, either in school or so- 
ciety, one must have energy enough to say 4 no ’ to 
inconsiderate demands, and cultivate enough of the 
touch-me-not disposition to repel intentional rudeness. 
We are all apt to wound one another’s vanity from 
time to time by making thoughtless speeches ; so, bav- 
ins: to listen to them is a trial that we must all learn 

© 

to endure with patience.” 

44 Yes,” said Nannie Burt. 44 It is foolish to take 
offense where no offense is meant. I said to Hattie 
Hammond the other day that if she would only wear 
braces a while it would cure her of stooping so dread- 
fully, and, would you believe it, she hasn’t spoken 
to me since ! 1 am sure I said it only for her own 

good.” 

44 1 dare say all the disagreeable speeches that are 
made to us might do us good if we listened to them 
in the right way,” observed Mollie Archer. 44 But 
as a general thing it is hard to recognize blessings that 
come to us so awfully disguised.” 

44 Well,” said Mrs. Duval, 44 when we know that 
such speeches are made only through ignorance or 
want of tact the best thing to do is to take them 
quietly and forget them as soon as possible.” 


HE A YEN'S FIRST LA W. 


49 


IX. 

HEAVEN’S FIKST LAW. 

“ Set all things in tlieir own peculiar place, 

And know that order is the greatest grace.” — Dryden. 

“ Mollie, will you lend me your instruction- 
book ? ” asked Belle Templeton, entering the back 
parlor one evening, and addressing herself to Mollie 
Archer, who was down on the floor playing horses 
witli little Theo Duval. 

“ Must you have it now ? ” returned Mollie. 

“ Yes ; I am going to practice a while before prayers. 
Mr. Haas says he likes your book better than mine.” 

“Well, just go up to my room, and you will find 
it on the table, or on the top of the wardrobe, or 
may be it is on the hat-box. I don’t remember 
exactly where I left it, but it is lying around some- 
where.” 

“Just like the rest of your belongings,” observed 
Mrs. Duval. “ Did you ever hear of the two fairies, 
Order and Disorder?” 

“Yes; I read about them when I was a child. 
They were both godmothers of some girl, I think ; 
one was always getting her into trouble, and then 

the other would come and get her out.” 

4 


50 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


“I wish Order would visit some of my up-stairs 
rooms oftener than she does at present,” said Mrs. 
Duval. 

“Why, she comes hustling around our. room every 
Saturday of her life,” returned Mollie. “ I am sure 
we often spend the whole morning in setting things 
to rights.” 

“That is because the fairy Disorder rooms with 
you all the remainder of the week,” rejoined Mrs. 
Duval. “ I admit that your room is in apple-pie 
order whenever I see it on Saturday ; but on Sunday 
afternoon it begins to have a slightly upside-down 
look ; on Monday your books are all out of their 
places ; on Tuesday table and mantel-piece are thick 
with dust ; on Wednesday the hearth is littered with 
scraps of paper ; on Thursday — well, when Thursday 
comes, I take care not to go into your room if it can 
be avoided ; it is not an inviting place. Now, you 
would save yourselves so much setting to rights on 
Saturday if you would only keep things in order 
on other days. I think I shall put a neat girl in 
the room with you next term, to set you a good 
example.” 

“ It would be an excellent plan,” replied Mollie. 
“ The good girl could put my corner of the room in 
order as w r ell as her own, and that would be line exer- 
cise for her. It is Christian charity to give these 
fidgety people something to do.” 


HEA YEN'S FIRST LA W. 


51 


“ It is more probable that you would follow her 
example of setting to rights,” returned Mrs. Duval. 

“Yes,” said Laura Lamar. “Our room used to 
look almost as bad as Mollie’s till Kate Drury came 
into it; but she keeps her corner in such perfect 
order that we others make ours tidy so as not to have 
too great a contrast.” 

“ O, Kate has an ear for neatness,” remarked Sue 
Mansfield. “ It runs in the family. My cousin, who 
used to go to school with her mother and aunt, says 
they both looked as if they had been kept under a 
glass case, and their room was always ready for 
inspection.” 

“ They ran the virtue into the ground,” said 
Mollie. 

“ Kate says she had more than one whipping, when 
she was a little thing, for soiling her apron. The 
idea of whipping a child into neatness ! I shouldn’t 
have any respect for my mother if I had ever known 
her to do such a thing.” 

“ It wasn’t Kate’s mother that whipped her,” ob- 
served Maggie. “ It was the aunt who brought her 
up. Her mother died when she was a baby.” 

“ I am glad to hear it wasn’t her mother,” said 
Mollie. 

“ Her aunt is her stepmother now,” Maggie went 
on. “ She married Dr. Drury only last year. Mamma 
received an invitation to the wedding, and she said 


52 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL . 


she was quite surprised by it, as Martha Dennis 
(that was the name of the aunt) was an old maid at 
fifteen.” 

“ I should say she was ! ” exclaimed Mollie. “ Whip- 
ping a little child for soiling her apron ! ” 

“ That seems to hurt you,” observed Mrs. Duval. 

“Why, surely you wouldn’t do such a thing?” 
rejoined Mollie. 

“No; most assuredly I should not. Yet I cannot 
help admiring the result of Miss Dennis’s discipline. 
Kate is not only very neat in person, but I am inclined 
to think there is less setting to rights in her room 
than in any other dormitory in the school. She keeps 
things in order, 'and, following her example, her 
room-mates do the same.” 

“They are all of them cut out for old maids,” 
observed Maggie. 

“ That is a compliment to old maids,” returned 
Mrs. Duval. “ You credit them with the virtue of 
orderliness. Now, if the reverse holds true, I wonder 
who will be married first of all the girls here at 
present. I am sure it is difficult to decide which 
keeps the worst-looking corner, you or Mollie.” 

“Mollie will!” exclaimed Maggie. “You ought 
to see her bureau-drawers before she puts them in 
order on Saturday morning.” 

“Maggie will!” rejoined Mollie. “I have my 
doubts sometimes about Maggie’s being able to 


HE A YEN'S FIRST LA W. 


53 


read, for half the books on her shelf are upside 
down.” 

“ Let each one of you mend one,” said Mrs. Duval, 
“ and then Room 27 will cease to be a disgrace to the 
east wing. Remember that now is yonr time for ac- 
quiring not only book-knowledge, but opinions and 
habits. If you are careless when you leave school 
you will probably be careless always. Even If you 
keep a houseful of servants they will find out your 
failings directly, and you know the sajdng : ‘Like 
mistress like maid.’ If, after you are married, you 
do not make your homes comfortable, your husbands 
will be likely to prefer the nearest place of public re- 
sort, and I think to be a neglected wife is as deplor- 
able a fate as to live single, as you seem so confident 
that Kate Drury is going to do.” 

“ But, Mrs. Duval, there is such a thing as being 
too neat and tidy,” persisted Mollie. 

“ If there is it is a failing that leans to virtue’s 
side,” returned Mrs. Duval. 

“ And one that Mollie is not likely ever to fall 
into,” remarked Laura Lamar. 

“ Ko,” said Sue. “ When Mollie marries her 
husband will have to follow the example of 

‘ poor Robinson Crusoe, 

And have a man Friday, 

To keep the house tidy, 

Because ’tis his duty to do so.’ ” 


54 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


“ Mind your eye ! ” returned Mollie. “ Don’t look 
so shocked, Mrs. Duval ! What I meant was she 
ought to pull the beam out of it instead of meddling 
with my mote. I’ve known that girl, on one of her 
hard days, to leave her bed unmade till nearly dinner- 
time.” 

“ I reiterate, let every one mend one,” said Mrs. 
Duval ; “ and I wish it could be impressed on each 
and every one of you that order is heaven’s first law.” 


IDLE HANDS. 


55 


X. 

IDLE HANDS. 

“ Labor is rest from the sorrows that greet us ; 

Rest from all petty vexations that meet us ; 

Rest from sin-promptings that ever entreat us; 

Rest from world-syrens that lure us to ill.” — Osgood. 

u Whenever I get into a scrape Mrs. Duval always 
gives me another study,” sighed Maggie Yates one 
evening. “ When she wrote 4 Intellectual Philosophy ’ 
on my 4 Schedule of Time’ to-day I knew it was be- 
cause Miss Bond saw me last Saturday waving my 
handkerchief from the window to Carrie Westbrook’s 
cousin as he was riding away from the door.” 

44 Why did you do it ? ” asked Hattie Hammond. 

44 For the want of something better to do, I sup- 
pose,” replied Maggie. 44 When I spend Saturday at 
home I am as good as gold, working in mamma’s 
flower-garden, and making dresses for Katie’s doll ; 
but here, where one is shut up like a prisoner, with 
nothing to do, Saturdays are twice as long as any 
other day of the week. My brother Philip says that 
doing nothing is the hardest work he ever did in 
his life, and that is my own experience. Miss Bond 
informs me that I am a disgrace to the room, 4 always 
staring out of the window like a gaby ; ’ but I am 


56 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


sure I should never go near the window if I had 
any thing to do.” 

“ Did Mrs. Duval scold you ? ” asked Laura Lamar. 

“ She said I was lowering the tone of the school,” 
replied Maggie. “ But after being called a gaby, and 
dear knows what beside, by Miss Bond, I didn’t much 
mind Mrs. Duval.” 

“ ‘ Satan finds some mischief still 
For idle hands to do,’ ” 

quoted Laura. “ If you had been embroidering your 
father’s slippers, that you commenced so long ago, 
you wouldn’t have been waving your handkerchief to 
such an insignificant-looking fellow.” 

“ O, you saw him, too, did you? ” asked Maggie. 

“ Yes, I saw him,” admitted Laura, with some con- 
fusion. 

“ Where were you ? ” demanded Maggie. 

“ I’d rather not say,” was the reply. 

“ You need not try to get out of it in that way,” 
observed Hattie Hammond. “ I saw you coming up 
from the side gate just before dinner, and I believe 
you went outside of the inclosure without leave.” 

“ Hot more than a dozen steps,” replied Laura. 

“ Why did you go ? ” asked Hattie. 

“ I was tired of being shut up, with nothing to do.” 

“ If you had been practicing gymnastics, as you 
ought to have been doing, your idle feet would not 


IDLE HANDS. 


57 


have carried you outside of the grounds without per- 
mission,” observed Sue Mansfield. 

“You are right, there,” said Hattie, with decision. 

“ One reason why I went out, Hattie,” returned 
Laura, “ w T as because you and Kate Drury were dis- 
puting at such a rate that you gave me the headache. 
It seems to me you always quarrel on Saturdays.” 

“Well, I am thankful I can keep the peace,” said 
Ellen Gordon. “ I had nothing in particular to do 
last Saturday, but I amused myself with a book all 
day long.” 

“ What book was it ? ” demanded Hattie. 

“ That is no affair of yours,” replied Ellen, blushing. 

“ I believe I know,” said Hattie. “ When I went 
into your room to get Dora to teach me crochet I 
noticed the book you held in your hand, and it had a 
great ink-splotch on the cover like that copy of Eu- 
gene Sue’s Jaif Errant that Mrs. Duval caught Emma 
Guice reading one day, and made such a fuss about. 
You know she said after prayer that evening that she 
was shocked to find there was a girl in the house so 
lost to all sense of decency as to read such a book.” 

“ Why, I thought that old Juif Errant was 
burned long ago,” said Mollie Archer. “ I am sure 
Emma Guice said it was. However, I might have 
known from that that it wasn’t.” 

“ It is now,” observed Dora Gordon. “ You can 
take my word for it.” 


58 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


“Yes; Dora lingered in our room after the tea-bell 
rang,” said Ellen ; “ and when I came up from tea 
the book was a heap of ashes. I was dreadfully 
vexed, as I had not quite finished it; but there was 
no use in saying any thing, as the harm was done.” 

“ I don’t think you remained vexed very long,” 
rejoined Dora. “ You were too busy working that 
book-mark for Cousin Eliza. There is nothing like 
hard work to make any one feel good-humored.” 

“ I suppose that is the reason you are always good- 
humored, Dora,” said she. “ I never yet went into 
your room and found you holding your hands. If you 
are not studying you are helping some goosie with 
her studies or making something for one of your 
numerous relatives. I doubt if you ever got into 
mischief in your life.” 

“ For pity’s sake don’t make a model girl of me ! ” 
returned Dora. “ At home they think I am too much 
given up to fancy-work.” 

“ It is better to fall back on fancy-work,” observed 
Mollie Archer, “than to be like that busy woman in 
Shirley (I forget her name) who, when she was not 
fussing around down-stairs, was up in her room, 
rummaging in her bureau-drawers. I suppose it 
is better to rummage in bureau-drawers than to wave 
handkerchiefs to students or break rules by wander- 
ing outside of the grounds ; but it always seemed to 
me to be a very foolish way of passing the time.” 


IDLE HANDS. 


59 


44 The most industrious woman I ever heard of,” 
remarked Sue, 44 was that duchess of something or 
other, who, when she was in prison, raveled up the 
carpet of her cell and, with four straws, knit stock- 
ings out the ravelings.” 

44 She was more fortunate,” said Mo'llie, 44 than the 
prisoner in the dungeon who spent his time in 
throwing four pins on the floor and then groping 
about in the dark in order to pick them up again.” 

44 They were both more sensible,” observed Dora, 
44 than the prince we read about in the Life of Fred- 
erick the Great: 4 Que faites vous a PotzdamPde- 
mandai-je un jour an Prince Guillaume. 4 Monsieur,! 
repondit-il, 4 nous passons notre vie a conjuguer tous 
le meme verbe : je m’ennuie, tu t’ennuies, il s’ennuie ; 
nous nous ennuyons, vous vous ennuyez, ils s’en- 
nuient: je m’ennuyait, je m’ennuierai, etc., etc.’ ” 


60 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


XL 

MUSIC. 

“ Other days come back to me 
With recollected music.” — Byron. 

“Laijra Lamar wont have to play at the concert 
after all,” observed Maggie Yates, as she came into 
the back parlor one evening with a music-book 
poised on her head. “ I wish I could be let off too ; 
but, as I can’t, I am going to the music-room directly 
to practice until the prayer-bell rings, so I can as- 
tonish you all to-morrow evening.” 

“ Why isn’t Laura going to play ? ” asked Sue 
Mansfield. 

“ Because she deliberately dropped melted sealing- 
wax on her finger and burnt it so badly that it had 
to be tied up. Laura was determined not to play, 
and Mr. Haas was determined she should ; but it 
seems she has been too strong for him.” 

“ I wouldn’t be so nervous as Laura — not for gold 
or precious stones ! ” exclaimed Mollie Archer. “ It 
is distressing to look at her. I shall never forget the 
first concert she took part in after she came. She 
had to sing, ‘ ’Tis Better to Laugh than Be Sighing,’ 
and she broke down in the first verse and began to 


MUSIC. 


61 


cry. ‘Sh-sh ! ’ said Mr. Haas, loud enough for us all 
to hear, ‘ ’Tis better to laugh than be crying ; ’ where- 
upon Laura undertook to do both at once, and went 
off into hysterics. I was as sorry for her as I could 
be, but it was too comical for any thing.” 

“ It is a shame,” said Maggie, “ to torment a girl 
like that by making her play at concerts ; but it isn’t 
Mr. Haas’s fault ; her own people insist upon it. They 
say they wish her to get rid of her diffidence.” 

“ Poor child,” sighed Sue. “ I’d almost as soon be 
lame or deaf as so afflicted with chronic scare.” 

“ I am as diffident as Laura,” said Maggie, “ only 
I have more self-control. You have no idea how I 
dread playing to-morrow evening ! ” 

“ You dread it so much,” observed Kate Drury, 
“ that if Mr. Haas were to come in now and say he’d 
excuse you you would go off into a fit of the sulks 
directly.” 

“Ho such thing,” exclaimed Maggie, indignantly. 
“ When I am at home I dread to have people come 
to spend the evening, because they always ask me to 
play, and mamma never will let me refuse.” 

“ I am always glad enough to be asked,” said Sue. 
“ We cannot play cards at home because grandma 
and mamma both disapprove of it ; so when the talk 
runs low there is only the piano to fall back upon, 
and when I get there I stay just as long as I think 
the company will bear it.” 


62 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


“ But you are entirely free from bashfulness,” ob- 
served Maggie, admiringly. “ I have heard Mrs. 
Duval say so herself.’’ 

“ I wish Ellen Gordon would drop melted sealing- 
wax on her linger,” said Mollie Archer. “ Of course 
she will be among the performers to-morrow even- 
ing, and if she doesn’t break down altogether she 
will make so many mistakes that it will be perfect 
torture to listen to her. Now, I like to hear Dora 
Gordon play ; but there is all the difference in the 
world between her playing and Ellen’s.” 

“ And yet Ellen has a much better ear for music, 
so Mr. Haas says,” observed Sue. 

“Yes; but Dora has better fingers for it,” said 
Mollie. “ She is a Thalberg girl, while Ellen is only 
a Grobe girl ; and I do hate to hear a Grobe girl 
murder Thalberg.” 

“ I don’t think music is worth the trouble of learn- 
ing it,” sighed Maggie. She had been scanning 
some rather formidable-looking Exercices pour la 
main gauche in her instruction-book. 

“ That depends upon the use you have for it at 
home,” observed Belle Templeton. “ When Sue was 
giving her experience just now I thought of mine. 
During vacation we have a visitor whom I could not 
possibly endure if he did not ask me to play. Fanny 
always retreats when she sees him riding up to the 
gate, insisting that he comes only to see me, and as 


music , : 


63 


papa and mamma generally make it convenient to be 
out of the way I have him all to myself for hour 
after hour.” 

“ How very charming he must find you ! ” re- 
marked Mol lie. 

“No; he thinks he is the charmer,” returned 
Belle. 

“ Wliat does he talk about \ ” asked Maggie. 

“ O, politics and agriculture, and every thing else 
that I don’t know or care any thing about. The last 
time he came I was practicing the Etude Mazourka , 
and as soon as I could get him to ask me to play I 
flew back to the piano, and went on with my prac- 
ticing. Papa says I was at it half an hour by the 
clock.” 

“ How was the visitor pleased with your music ? ” 
asked Mollie. 

“ He remarked that it was a pretty enough piece, 
but rather monotonous.” 

“ That friend of yours doesn’t have to beg very 
hard, then, to induce you to play,” observed Kate 
Drury. a Ellen Gordon says she never will play at 
home till she has been asked the third time.” 

“ That reminds me of the way my aunt disap- 
pointed a singing girl at one of her parties,” said 
Mollie Archer. “The girl sings very well indeed, 
but the trouble is she wont sing until people have so 
wearied themselves with asking her that they haven’t 


64 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


spirit enough left to enjoy the music. Well, when 
music-time came my aunt asked this girl to sing ; but 
she replied that she had such a severe sore throat she 
couldn’t think of such a thing.” 

“ If you have a sore throat of course I shall not 
be so cruel as to press you,” returned my aunt, who 
knew well enough the girl was libbing. “ And then 
she not only wouldn’t ask her again herself, but 
,if any one else said ‘sing’ to her my aunt would 
instantly put in and say, ‘No; you must not ask 

Miss L to sing with such a sore throat as she 

has. It might injure her voice for life.’ Several 

old ladies, hearing about Miss L ’s imaginary 

sore throat, gathered around her and prescribed all 
sorts of remedies, and before the evening was over 
she was fairly crying from disappointment and vexa- 
tion. The next time she was asked to sing at my 
aunt’s house she did so without making any difficulty 
about it.” 

“ It has been the way with singers ever since the 
time of Horace,” observed Mr. Richards (who had 
come in while Mollie was speaking), “ to require much 
persuasion to set them to singing, and then to exhibit 
great unwillingness to leave off.” 

“Aren’t you coming to our concert to-morrow 
evening, Mr. Richards ? ” asked Maggie. 

“ No ; I must deny myself that pleasure,” replied 
he, shrugging his shoulders. 


MUSIC. 


65 


“ You have no music in yourself, and are fit for 
treason, stratagems, and spoils/’ said Mollie. 

“I don’t care to attend concerts,” returned Mr. 
Richards, “but at so-called sociables I think the 
piano is a very useful quadruped ; for, as I read some- 
where, only the other day, even among the musical 

Germans music is a great promoter of conversation.” 
5 


66 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


XII. 

A SENSE OP HONOR. 

“ I will believe 

Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know, 

And so far will I trust thee.” — S hakespeare. 

“ Poor Dora Gordon looks like grief personified,” 
observed Bertha Holt one evening as she came up 
from tea. “ I met her on the stairs just now, and I 
am sure she was on the verge of a fit of weeping.” 

“ She has had red rims around her eyes ever since 
Miss Clymer left,” said Maggie Yates. “I knew 
that Miss Clymer thought the world of her, but I did 
not know that Dora was so fond of her in return.” 

“ Miss Clymer wasn’t so awful fond of her as you 
might suppose,” remarked Amelia Dixon. “ I heard 
her say the very day she left that Dora Gordon was 
a swan of hers that had turned out a goose ; that she 
used to think her the soul of honor, but she had 
learned her mistake. I guess Dora Gordon aint so 
much better than the rest of us.” 

“ I know what Miss Clymer fell out with her 
about,” said Mollie Archer. “ She discovered that 
some of her family secrets — the reason why she was 
going home for one — were talked about in school ; 


A SENSE OF HONOR. 


67 


and as she had told them to Dora Gordon and no one 
else she naturally supposed that Dora had betrayed 
her confidence. For pity’s sake, Emma Guice, what 
are you giggling about ? ” 

44 Miss Clyiner and Dora had a great secret between 
them,” replied Emma, “ but I was too cute for them 
both. I was determined to know why Miss Clymer 
was going home, and I found out.” 

“ How did you manage it ? ” exclaimed Amelia 
Dixon, with breathless interest. 

44 Well, I’ll tell you. Miss Clymer was walking up 
and down the room with a letter in her hand. All 
she had said to me after reading it was, 4 I must go 
home.’ After a while she said, 4 O, I wish I could 
have a private talk with Dora Gordon, but I suppose 
it would be impossible.’ 4 Ho, it isn’t,’ I answered. 
4 Just go and bring her in here. I’ll go down-stairs 
and practice my new piece.’ As I said that I took 
up the music and looked as if I were just about to 
start ; but after Miss Clymer left the room what did 
I do but step into the closet and shut the door after 
me, leaving just crack enough to hear through. 4 Ah, 
madam,’ said I, 4 I’ll know your secrets, whether you 
like it or not.’ And so, when she and Dora came in 
to have their talk, I just stood still and listened, half 
crazy all the time for fear I might sneeze and ruin 
every thing.” 

44 O, dear,” exclaimed Sue Mansfield, 44 how I wish 


68 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


Miss Clymer had locked the closet-door and left it 
locked for the night ! It would have been just what 
you deserved.” 

“That was awful cute in you,” observed Amelia 
Dixon, admiringly. “I never should have thought 
of such a plan. What did Miss Clymer have to 
say?” 

“ La ! do you think I am going to repeat it here to 
all of you girls?” returned Emma Guice. “I did 
tell it to Tempe Bolton, but she promised to let it 
go no further.” 

“ She told it to her friend Rachel, the housemaid,” 
observed Mollie Archer. “ I heard Rachel say so, 
but I did not believe her story until you corroborated 
it. I understand it was some of Rachel’s talk that so 
set Miss Clymer against poor Dora Gordon. I shall 
make it my business to write to Miss Clymer this 
very evening, and straighten matters, for I am sick 
and tired of seeing Dora look so woe-begone. Miss 
Clymer, it seems, went off without saying good-bye to 
her, and no wonder, suspecting, as she did, that Dora 
had repeated what was told her in confidence. If 

there were a station nearer than X I’d march out 

and send her a telegram immediately.” 

“ O, you are a wonderful girl ! ” said Emma Guice, 
with a sneer. “ But you’d give your eyes to know 
as much as I do about what took Miss Clymer home 
so suddenly.” 


A SENSE OF HONOR. 


69 


“ I think it must have been to get away from her 
room-mate,” returned Mollie. “ I should hate dread- 
fully to room with a girl who would take the scraps 
of a torn-up letter belonging to some one else and 
put them together and read them.” 

“ And I,” said Sue, “ would just die if I roomed 
with a girl who would relight her candle after lights- 
out in order to read books that I myself wouldn’t 
touch with the tongs.” 

“ O, you two are awfully high-toned,” returned 
Emma ; “ so much so that I suppose you couldn’t be 
persuaded to listen if I were to tell Miss Clymer’s 
secret ; but I am sure I heard you both wondering 
what on earth could be taking her home in the mid- 
dle of the term. Some people have quite as much 
curiosity as other people.” 

“ But they are not so dishonorable as to gratify it 
in the same way,” observed Mrs. Duval, who had 
come in just in time to hear Emma’s last words. 

The latter, who had been sitting with her back to 
the door, started and looked frightened, not knowing 
how much of her speech had been overheard, and di- 
rectly afterward made some excuse to leave the room. 
After she had gone Mrs. Duval continued : 

“ I remember being once well scolded by my 
mother for watching her countenance while she was 
reading a letter — a letter of which I was extremely 
anxious to know the contents. She said such conduct 


70 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


was almost as reprehensible as reading over her shoul- 
der. There are some girls who draw very arbitrary 
lines in these questions of honor. They would, very 
properly, scorn to listen at key-holes, but they see no 
harm in leaving their room doors ajar and listening 
to conversation going on without — conversation not 
intended for their ears.” 

“ That makes me think of a room-mate I had once,” 
observed Mollie. “ She said nothing could induce 
her to read even the address of one of my letters 
without permission, but when I came into our room 
unexpectedly one day and caught her reading my 
journal she contended there was no harm in it, as a 
journal wasn’t a letter.” 

“ It would be easier for girls to be honorable if 
they were not so outrageously curious by nature,” re- 
marked Maggie Yates, sagely. 

“It would be easier for us all to keep the ten 
commandments if we were not by nature so prone to 
break most of them,” returned Mrs. Duval. “ It is 
this keeping the commandments that distinguishes 
the civilized man from the savage, living according to 
nature ; and it is living up to an understood code of 
honor that distinguishes highly civilized men and 
women from those who are still savage enough to fol- 
low a number of natural instincts.” 

“ I had always supposed that a sense of honor was 
instinctive,” said Belle Templeton, rather loftily. 


A SENSE OF HONOR. 


71 


“ When once thoroughly imbibed it permeates the 
disposition, and it is handed down from one genera- 
tion to another, just as other traits of character are,” 
returned Mrs. Duval. 

“ Then,” said Mollie, “ to have an instinctive sense 
of honor one must have had a line of ancestors — I 
mean a line of ancestors worth speaking of.” 

“Yes,” returned Mrs. Duval; “and as it is not al- 
ways safe to depend on a line of dead and buried 
grandparents and great-grandparents I think it is best 
for all girls to be taught orally by their mothers or 
other instructors how detestable it is to repeat what is 
told one in confidence ; to put questions to servants or 
little children in regard to matters of which they have 
no right to speak ; to read what is not intended for 
our eyes ; to listen to what is not intended for our 
ears, or to be guilty of any thing else not consistent 
with the great unwritten code of honor.” 


72 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


XIII. 

AN UNFEMININE VIRTUE. 

“ In moral beauty — if ever there had been an annual book of it — 
Kezia might have had her portrait at full length.” — T. Hood. 

“ W iien I was in X to-day,” said Mollie Archer 

one evening, “ I saw what I never saw before — great 
posters announcing that Miss somebody or other — I 
forget the name — w’as coming next week to deliver a 
woman’s rights lecture in the lyceum.” 

“ A woman’s rights lecture ! ” repeated Belle 
Templeton, contemptuously. “I never had much 
respect for X , and shall have still less in future.” 

“ I should like to hear something of the kind,” said 
Maggie Yates. “ Did you ever, Mrs. Duval ? ” 

“ Yes,” was the reply ; “I once went to a woman’s 
rights meeting for the express purpose of hearing 
Miss Susan B. Anthony.” 

“ Did you like her ? ” asked Mollie. 

“ I admired her magnanimity.” 

“ Magnanimity ! What is that ? ” asked Maggie. 

“ Bertha will give you the derivation,” replied Mrs. 
Duval. 

“ Magnanimity is derived from two Latin words — 
magnus, great, and animus, soul,” explained Bertha 


AN UNFEMININE VIRTUE. 


73 


Holt. “ It is best defined as the virtue standing op- 
posite the vice of envy.” 

“ So Miss Anthony has a great soul, then ? ” ob- 
served Mollie. “ She ought to have, setting up, as 
she does, to be a kind of man, traveling around mak- 
ing speeches.” 

“Then you think men have larger souls than 
women?” said Belle. 

“ Of course I do,” replied Mollie. “ Haven’t they, 
Mrs. Duval ? ” 

“I think they are less prone to envy,” was the 
reply. “It was refreshing to see with what manly 
vigor Miss Anthony led the applause when another 
popular female speaker had the floor. And then, on 
rising to her feet, the first thing she did was to ask the 
audience to subscribe to a woman’s rights journal con- 
ducted by this other speaker. 4 You may remember,’ 
said she, ‘ my own non-success in a venture of this 
kind ; but where I failed another might succeed.’ 
Then she began on the subject of woman’s right to 
vote, and I very soon left the hall ; but I shall always 
remember Susan B. Anthony as a very magnanimous 
woman, and I think that we should take her as a 
model in this respect and try to have great souls, 
even though we may not care to have strong 
minds.” 

“ I tried once,” remarked Sue Mansfield, with some 
complacency. “ If you remember, at the October con- 


74 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL . 


cert I broke down completely in 4 A Dream on the 
Ocean ’ (it was a seasick nightmare to me), but when, 
in the November concert, Belle managed to hammer 
through it I applauded just as loudly as any of 
you.” 

“Hammer through it!” repeated Belle indignant- 
ly. 44 Why, Mr. Haas himself said I played it witli 
expression.” 

“Well, I am not very magnanimous,” confessed 
Maggie. “When Miss Bond said yesterday that 
Kate’s copy of that flower-piece was better than 
mine I felt like tearing Kate’s in two. I am sure 
mine is quite as good, only Miss Bond doesn’t like 
me.” 

“I hope that suspicion makes you happy,” ob- 
served Mrs. Duval. “ Miss Bond has been teaching 
here five years, and I have never yet had reason to 
suspect her of showing partiality in her reports of her 
pupils’ work.” 

“ Quite the contrary,” said Sue, with decision. 
“ Why, talk about magnanimity, I am sure Miss 
Bond is magnanimity itself. She said Virgie Hale, 
who was here last year, had greater artistic talent 
than any other girl she had ever taught, and I am 
sure Virgie was sometimes horridly impertinent to 
her, once going so far as to say in her hearing that 
4 that old Miss Bond had no more knowledge of high 

o o 

art than a sign-painter.’ If she had known how 


AN UNFEMININE VIRTUE. 


75 


much Miss Bond thought of her talent she would 
have been more respectful, but Miss Bond hardly 
ever praised people to their faces.” 

“ I wish I were strong-minded enough to return 
good for evil in the Bond style,” observed Belle. 

“ Great-souled enough, you mean,” returned Mrs. 
Duval. 

“ Since reading Lalla Rookh I am growing to 
be rather Oriental in my opinions,” said Mollie; 
“ and I have my doubts about women having souls — 
that is, some kinds of women. They are so ready 
to be envious and spiteful. Only yesterday I over- 
heard Dora Gordon remark to a girl (who shall be 
nameless) that Mollie Archer wore the smallest shoe 
in school, whereupon the other replied, ‘Yes, and I 
suppose she has a fine crop of corns. It always pro- 
duces corns to cramp the foot after that fashion.’ 
Now, that girl hasn’t any soul whatever, or she never 
would have made such a slanderous speech. I never 
had a corn in my life, and only once did I ever wear 
a pair of shoes too tight for me.” 

“ Has that no-souled girl a small foot or a large 
one?” asked Sue. 

“ A huge one,” replied Mollie. “ I am sure she 
must wear sevens.” 

“ Take care, Mollie,” said Mrs. Duval. “ I’m afraid 
you have added three to her number in consequence 
of what she said about you. In spite of your study 


76 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


of Lalla Rookh , I suppose you still claim to liave a 
soul of your own, but it does not seem great enough 
to enable you to ignore unkind speeches.” 

“ It seems to be dreadfully difficult to forgive a 
girl for having any thing nice that you haven’t got 
yourself,” observed Laura Lamar. “ Girls with bad 
complexions so often accuse one of using paint and 
powder.” 

“Dora Gordon has a great soul,” remarked Sue, 
reflectively. “ She says she fairly worships beauty, 
and I am sure she is always praising other girls’ good 
looks, though she has none of her own except a pleas- 
ant expression.” 

“The only beauty that will last,” observed Mrs. 
Duval. “Twenty-five years hence Dora will be the 
best looking of you all.” 

“And then the no-souled and the little-souled 
among us will be saying spiteful things about her, I 
suppose,” rejoined Sue. “ It is so hard for such creat- 
ures to forgive other people for being better-looking 
than themselves ! ” 

“ Or for excelling them in any respect,” returned 
Mrs. Duval. 

“ Don’t you think souls would become larger if they 
were exercised ? ” asked Sue. 

“ Most assuredly I do,” replied Mrs. Duval. “ Don’t 
you remember how much larger your arms grew last 
summer when you did so much rowing? ” 


AN UNFEMININE VIRTUE. 


77 


“ Yes,” returned Sue. “When I left here in June 
they were nothing but sticks, but now I think I have 
very respectable arms.” 

“Enlarge your soul, then,” said Mrs. Duval, “by 
cultivating the virtue of magnanimity.” 


78 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


XIV. 

MADAME CANDOR. 

e< Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves 
'Where manners ne’er were preached.” — Shakespeare. 

“ How I do hate a deceitful girl ! ” exclaimed 
Laura Lamar. “ When I was young enough to read 
fairy tales I dreaded 6 the civil Welsh giant ’ more than 
any other one that Jack encountered — dreaded him 
on account of his having two faces. I like those 
around me to say just what they think, because then I 
can place some confidence in them.” 

“ I may have confidence in people of that kind,” 
observed Sue Mansfield, “but I cannot say I have 
much liking for them. How, there is Kate Drury, 
who used to be always saying, 4 I’ll tell you candidly,’ 
till Mollie, there, stopped it by calling her ‘Madame 
Candor.’ Well, Kate Drury always says just what she 
thinks, though I, for one, wish she would sometimes 
hold her tongue instead.” 

“But that she cannot do,” said Mollie Archer. 
“To let her tell it, she is bound to say whatever comes 
into her head, and I am sure since I have known her 
nothing agreeable has ever come there.” 

“Ho; only unpleasant things,” remarked Belle 


MADAME CANDOR. 


79 


Templeton. 44 This morning she came into the room 
where I was practicing 4 Sounds from Home,’ and stood 
by my side staring at the notes and making me as nerv- 
ous as a cat, though I knew, being near-sighted, she 
could not read them plainly at that distance. 4 Well,’ 
said I, when I had finished, 4 do you like it ? ’ 4 Not 

as »you play it,’ replied she. 4 1 heard Dora Gordon 
practicing it the other day, and thought it very pretty.’ 
What do you think of a speech like that, Laura? 
There wasn’t a speck of deceit about it.” 

44 1 think it was very rude and disagreeable,” re- 
sponded Laura, promptly. 44 Why couldn’t she have 
said she thought it was pretty and left out the rest ? ” 
44 Because the poor thing is bound to say whatever 
comes into her head,” returned Mollie. 44 And that 
reminds me of what she said about the poem I gave 
in last week as a composition. I told her what I had 
written, and remarked that if Mrs. Southgate praised it 
when she gave it back I was going to send it to Godey's 
Lady's Booh for publication. 4 O, I shouldn’t do that, 
if I were you,’ said she; 4 you will be only throwing 
away your paper and stamps. Godey doesn’t publish 
any thing but good poetry.’ ” 

44 How disinterested ! ” said Belle. 44 Most girls, 
even if they did not admire your verses, would have 
let you throw away a ream of paper and postage- 
stamps in proportion before they would have been 
guilty of making such a rude speech. It is a dread- 


80 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


ful thing to be bound to say whatever comes into 
one’s head.” 

“ I know it is Kate Drury you are talking about,” • 
observed Ellen Gordon, who had come in j ust in time to 
catch these last words. “ I can never forget what that 
girl said to me just before the last concert, when I told 
her I was going to sing at it. 4 Well, I am surprised,’ 
said she. 4 Mr. Haas must know that your voice can- 
not be heard half-way across the room.’ She found 
out her mistake when I was encored at the concert.” 

44 I don’t think any of you have suffered so much 
from her as I have,” sighed Maggie Yates. “You 
know her mother and mamma w T ere at school together. 
Well, when mamma heard that Kate was here nothing 
would do but I must bring her home with me some 
Friday afternoon. I said she was one of the most 
disagreeable girls alive ; but mamma couldn’t take 
my word for it. She thought the daughter of her 
old friend, Sarah Dennis, must be as nice as her 
mother. Well, one Friday afternoon, when the car- 
riage came for me there came with it a note from 
mamma inviting Kate to accompany me home. She 
accepted and behaved so well the first evening that I 
was afraid mamma would accuse me of slandering 
her. But the next morning, when mamma asked her 
at breakfast how she had slept the night before, she 
said what came into her head. 4 Better than I ex- 
pected,’ replied she. 4 There was not so much cover- 


MADAME CANDOR. 


81 


in g as I am accustomed to, and the chimney smoked 
so badly that I could not keep the fire burning, but I 
managed to get through the night without much dis- 
comfort.’ Mamma expressed her regrets very politely, 
but I overheard her that day saying to Aunt Marianne 
that Kate was as unlike her mother in manners as she 
was in face and figure. The next morning, when we 
were ready for church, I asked Kate what she thought 
of my new dress. 4 It is pretty enough in itself,’ she 
replied, ‘ but with your sallow complexion you ought 
never to wear green. It makes you look like a 
corpse.’ ” 

“I hope that put you in a good, humble, church- 
going frame of mind,” observed Mollie. 

“O, she made me feel humbler still before we 
reached the church,” returned Maggie. “ Aunt Ma- 
rianne, who sat opposite to me in the carriage, re- 
marked to mamma that I was beginning to look more 
and more like Aunt Hester. ‘ The lady whose por- 
trait hangs in the dining-room ? ’ asked Kate. 6 Well, 
there is some resemblance, but the portrait has dark 
liair, while Maggie’s is decidedly sandy.’ ” 

“ Did she actually say that ? ” exclaimed Belle. 

“ She actually did,” was the reply. “ And I have 
always been so careful to call her hair auburn, though 
in reality it is scarlet.” 

“ I am not surprised that you do not care to have 

another visit from her,” observed Laura. 

Q 


82 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


“ Why, Laura, you ought to like her,” said Sue — 
“ a girl so entirely free from deceit as she is.” 

“ I am by no means sure,” said Mrs. Duval, “ that 
rudeness is always a proof of the absence of deceit ; 
but I am quite positive that one can always avoid 
being rude without being in the least deceitful. If, 
in reply to Mrs. Yates’s question, Kate had been con- 
tent with saying that she had slept very well or not 
very well, whichever was the case, she would have 
spoken the exact truth ; it was when she went on to 
say just what came into her head that she made such 
a rude speech.” 

“And she might have said Maggie’s dress was 
pretty without saying any thing farther,” added Mol- 
lie. “ I think the secret of being polite lies chiefly in 
knowing when to hold one’s tongue.” 

u Yes,” rejoined Mrs. Duval. “Ko one has a 
greater abhorrence of falsehood than I have, but 
still I agree with the magazine writer who said, 6 If 
we were all in the habit of saying just what we 
thought this would be no world to live in.’ ” 


WELL ENOUGH FOR THE VULGAR. 


83 


XV. 

WELL ENOUGH FOR THE VULGAR. 

“I hate any thing that’s low.” — S he Stoops to Conquer. 

“ I am completely exhausted,” sighed Bertha Holt, 
as she sank upon the sofa in the back parlor one un- 
usually warm evening in Indian summer. “If this 
weather continues much longer it will certainly be 
impossible for me to give due attention to my 
studies.” 

“ As for me,” responded Mollie Archer, “ I remind 
myself of that fine lady in the Vicar of Wakefield 
who complained, when the dance was over, that she 
was ‘ all a muck of sweat.’ ” 

“ Get the hartshorn, somebody, before Bertha 
faints!” exclaimed Maggie Yates. “Mollie, you 
ought to be ashamed of yourself ! ” 

“ Sweat is a good old Saxon word,” returned Mol- 
lie ; “ and, though I use it only as a quotation, Amelia 
Dixon does so in her ordinary talk.” 

“The use of such words is well enough for the 
vulgar,” said Belle Templeton, “ but I have a horror 
of them, even in quotation.” 

“Yes,” rejoined Mollie; “you have always had 
such a horror of vulgarity that I remember you 


84 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


wished to skip ‘ vulgar fractions,’ when we came to 
them in arithmetic.” 

“Amelia and Jennie Dixon are, both of them, en- 
tirely too fond of Saxon words,” observed Sue Mans- 
field. “When Miss Bond gave Jennie a glass of her 
Congress water this morning she remarked, ‘ It stinks, 
like rotten eggs.’ Don’t be opening your eyes at me, 
Mrs. Duval ” (this to our preceptress, who had just 
entered) ; “ that was only a quotation.” 

“Why don’t you quote something more edifying 
to your audience ? ” asked Mrs. Duval. 

“ I am teaching them what not to say,” replied 
Sue. 

“I am very glad to hear it, as most of you need 
just such teaching,” rejoined Mrs. Duval. “ Let 
every one mend one, and then St. Mary’s will have a 
set of model young gentlewomen.” 

“ You speak as though we were all vulgarians,” ob- 
served Bertha Holt ; “ yet I flatter myself that I for 
one speak my mother-tongue with propriety. 

“ Your tongue is right enough, as a general thing,” 
returned Mrs. Duval ; “but where is your other foot? 
I see only one.” 

“ I was sitting on it,” replied Bertha, righting her- 
self amid a general laugh. 

“ There is such a thing as a vulgar position as well 
as vulgar words,” observed Mrs. Duval ; “ stooping 01 
sitting with the elbows out, or the lower limbs crossed, 


WELL ENOUGH FOB THE VULGAR. 85 

or with one foot under you (as Dickens expresses it), 
i as though you were going to hatch it.’ I admit that 
vulgarity shows itself oftenest in objectionable lan- 
guage ; but take care, all of you, how, even in this 
matter, you throw stones at the Dixon sisters.” 

“ Why, Mrs. Duval ! ” exclaimed Belle, highly in- 
dignant, “ do you mean to insinuate for one moment 
I ever talk like those vulgar girls ? ” 

“ Certainly not,” replied Mrs. Duval. “ It would 
be strange if you did — a girl with the advantages you 
have had. But you have a very disagreeable habit 
of calling persons out of their names. You do it, I 
suppose, to show them that they are of quite too little 
importance for you to burden your memory with 
their names; but such a habit has been justly de- 
nounced by an old writer on good breeding as ‘ very 
awkward and ordinary.’ ” 

“Papa says,” observed Mollie, “that forgetting 
names is one of the symptoms of old age.” 

Here Belle, who was nearly twenty, and, as Mollie 
well knew, rather sensitive on the subject, walked out 
of the room in her most dignified manner. 

“I must say it of Belle,” remarked Mrs. Duval, 
after she was gone, “ that she seldom needs to be cor- 
rected more than once for any one failing.” 

“ How different from me ! ” observed Maggie 
Yates. “It took you an awful long time to break 
me of saying funny when I meant odd or strange . 


86 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


You had to attack me at last with the unabridged 
dictionary, and let me see with my own eyes that 
fun was there given as 6 a low word.’ ” 

“ I wonder how long it will take me to break you 
of saying awful when you mean very” returned Mrs. 
Duval. 

“ About as long as it will take you to break Laura, 
there, of saying mighty when she means very” 

“ Longer, I am afraid ; for Laura has ceased to say 
a heap when she means much or many , while you 
continue to use the vulgarism, an awful lot” 

“ I am going to stop it right away.” 

“ Why not stop it here instead of going away to 
do so \ ” 

“ I mean I am going to stop it immediate^.” 

“ Then why not say immediately instead of using 
such a colloquialism as right away f ” 

“Mrs. Duval,” said Maggie, “if you will just let 
me alone I’ll never say another word about the 
Dixons and their talk.” 

“ Don’t say the Dixons. If you are not intimate 
enough with them to say Amelia and Jennie, say the 
Misses Dixon.” 

“ Mrs. Duval,” said Mollie, “ I have heard a great 
many people say right away. I don’t mean Tom, 
Dick, and Harry now, but college graduates.” 

“ A great many college graduates,” returned Mrs. 
Duval, “have heard so much stress put on Greek and 


WELL ENOUGH FOR THE VULGAR. 


87 


Latin that they have a contempt for English. I once 
heard a first-honor man speak of his father growing 
corn, meaning cultivating it.” 

“He was riz. in the backwoods, I suppose,” said 
Sue; “and most persons find it difficult to give up 
the language of their early youth. However, I notice 
that Laura, there, is not such a good calculator as she 
was when she first came to St. Mary’s. I never hear 
* her reckoning nowadays.” 

“But I hear you sometimes guessing still,” replied 
Mrs. Duval, “ even when charades are not the order 
of the day.” 

“ There is vulgarity in pronunciation as well as in 
the use of colloquialism,” remarked Bertha Holt, in 
her didactic manner. “For instance, there is con- 
tra' ry for con'trary .” 

“Yes,” put in Maggie; “Amelia Dixon says Jen- 
nie is so contra'ry at times that she cannot do any 
thing with her.” 

“ And I heard Jennie say yesterday,” added Mollie, 
“that the lay locks bloomed early last spring; she 
meant lilacs.” 

“Well, when they bloom again,” said Mrs. Duval, 
“ I hope some one present wont make them into 
boquets .” 

“ I understand,” said Mollie. “ I know I did say 
loquet , but I am trying my best to remember to say 
loo.” 


88 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


“ To a goose ? ” asked Sue. 

“ Yes ; didn’t I ask you tliis afternoon to make me 
a bouquet of violets to send off in a letter?” 

“ One may pronounce words correctly,” said Mrs. 
Duval (taking no notice of this little aside), “and 
avoid vulgar colloquialism, and still ruin every thing 
by speaking through the nose instead of the mouth. 
It is said that, two centuries ago, such a mode of 
speaking was the pride of the Puritan ; but we have 
changed all that, and now a nasal twang is a sign of 
low birth and breeding.” 

“ O, dear ! ” sighed Mollie. “ There is so much to 
be avoided in this wicked, vulgar, and abominable 
world ! ” 

“ Yes,” returned Mrs. Duval ; “ and I wish I could 
thoroughly impress upon you all what I read the 
other day in a fashion journal. It was something 
like this : ‘ Riches take unto themselves wings ; blue 
blood is liable to become mixed ; refinement is what 
remains to distinguish the aristocrat from the ple- 
beian, and of this refinement there is no surer outward 
and audible sign than correct language.’ ” 


MAUVAISE HONTE. 


89 


XVI. 

MAUVAISE HONTE. 

“ Confound me not with shame ; nor call up all 
The blood that warms my trembling heart 
To fill my cheek with blushes.” — Albramule. 

“ So you had a visitor this morning, Sue ? ” said 
Maggie Yates one Saturday evening, when a number 
of us were, as usual, assembled in the back parlor. 

“ You had better say Miss Bond had a visitor,” re- 
turned Sue Mansfield. “ As soon as Aunt Margaret 
heard that her old friend, Rosie Bond (the idea of 
calling Miss Bond ‘ Rosie ! ’ ) was teaching here she 
asked to see her, and then they talked and talked 
about old times, while I had nothing to do but to 
watch Laura Lamar and her visitor at the other end 
of the room until I became perfectly sick and dis- 
gusted.” 

“ What was the matter ? ” asked Mollie Archer. 

“O, they were both so dreadfully bashful and 
fidgety. Of course I didn’t hear what they were 
talking about, but Laura laughed at every thing she 
said, and her visitor, who seemed to be very youthful, 
laughed at every thing he said, and she twisted her 
bracelets, and he pulled at his handkerchief, till I was 


90 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


inclined to run across the room and shake their fool- 
ishness out of them.” 

“ You might shake Laura to pieces without bene- 
fiting her in that respect,” observed Mollie. “ She 
is the most diffident girl I ever saw in my life — blush- 
ing whenever a teacher speaks to her in class.” 

“ I never see Laura in an agony of blushing,” said 
Mrs. Duval, “without thinking of Mrs. Browning’s 
lines : 

“ * Girls blush sometimes because they are alive, 

Half wishing they were dead to save the shame. 

The sudden blush devours them, neck and brow ; 

They’ve drawn too near the fire of life, like moths, 

And flare up boldly, wings and all. Wliat then? 

Who’s sorry for a moth? — or girl ?’ ” 

“ I am,” replied Sue. “ When Laura goes trem- 
bling up to the piano on concert nights, with her 
cheeks scarlet, and her shoulders up to her ears, I’d 
like to go and play her poor little shaky piece for 
her.” 

“ I shouldn’t suppose you could ever sympathize 
with diffident persons, Sue,” said Mollie. “ Now I 
do because I am so scary myself. I don’t blush like 
Laura, but papa says when we have visitors staying 
with us I sometimes remind him of the c young per- 
son’ in Our Mutual Friend , who used to address 
her remarks to the table-cloth, and would nearly take 
a fit when any one asked her to dance.” 

“ Girls that blush have the best time of it in so- 


MA UVAISE HONTE. 


91 


ciety,” said Maggie ; u for almost all girls are more or 
less diffident, but if they look cool and composed 
people think they are not scared a bit, and keep quiet 
only because they haven’t sense enough to talk. 
Now, when I make morning calls with mamma all 
I can do is to sit still and look pretty while she does 
the talking.” 

“ I always try to do my share of the talk on such 
occasions,” said Mollie, “ but I am so nervous that I 
know I seem affected and gushing. Mamma says 
she wishes I did not have such a company voice and 
manner.” 

“ I believe all young girls have company voices,” 
remarked Maggie. 

“ Sue hasn’t,” returned Mollie ; “ I discovered that 
one day last week, when I walked into the south par- 
lor with a music-book under my arm and my hair all 
in a towsle. I heard Sue’s voice in there, but it 
sounded so natural I supposed she was speaking to 
one of the girls. Well, when I went in there sat a 
new girl, and there sat that new girl’s dignified 
father, and her bearded brother, and her stout 
mother, dressed like the queen of Sheba — I mean 
like a Mrs. Solomon — and there was Sue talking un- 
concernedly and looking as cool as a cucumber.” 

“I didn’t mind them,” said Sue; “ I am afraid of 
cows and spiders and such things, but I haven’t the 
least fear of people.” 


92 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


“What you girls call diffidence,” observed Mrs. 
Duval, “is really self-consciousness. When Mollie 
goes into the parlor she wonders what the people 
she finds there are going to think of Miss Molli’e 
Archer, and that very wonderment prevents her 
being natural and unconstrained.” 

“ She doesn’t always think about herself,” returned 
Mollie. “ Last Saturday, when I went into the par- 
lor to see my cousin, and, among other people, found 
Amelia Dixon there with her beau, I was wondering 
all the while what the company in general thought 
of her. O, such a loud laugh, and such free-and- 
easy talk ! No one could ever accuse her of diffidence. 
Should you like me to take her as a model, Mrs. 
Duval ? ” 

“ In the matter of dress I most assuredly would,” 
was the reply. “ I believe Amelia Dixon could make 
a calico go as far as you could a silk, and I never 
saw her with rumpled hair or collar and cuffs. She 
and Jennie are both pinks of neatness. If, instead of 
criticising the failings of your school-mates, you would 
look out something in each of them worthy of imita- 
tion, you would become a very superior girl indeed. 
As for loud laughter, you were probably taught when 
you were much younger than you are now that it is 
extremely vulgar and ill-bred.” 

“Yes,” replied Mollie ; “ when I was a child papa 
used sometimes to have words with our cook’s young 


MAUVAISE HONTE. 


93 


man in regard to the noise lie kept up in the kitchen, 
and I remember he once quoted poetry to him, say- 
ing something about 

“ * The loud laugh that speaks the vacant mind.’ ” 

“ Was the young man convinced ? ” asked Sue. 

“ Not a bit of it. He said papa needn’t be quoting 
Scriptur’ to him, as he was a free-thinker. Fortu- 
nately for papa’s nerves, though unhappily for our 
cook’s young affections, he was a flirt as well as a free- 
thinker, and he suddenly left our kitchen and took 
his laugh somewhere else.” 

“If Dr. Archer objected so to loud laughing in 
the kitchen I wonder what he would think of Amelia 
Dixon in the parlor,” said Maggie Yates. 

“He would think she was an escaped lunatic, I 
suppose,” replied Mollie. 

“Well,” observed Belle Templeton, “I’d rather be 
as blusliy and fidgety as Laura Lamar than as loud 
and brassy as that Miss Dixon. She does dress well — 
I’ll give her credit for that — but I was in the parlor 
with her on one occasion, and I do not care ever 
to encounter her there again.” 

“I suppose,” said Mollie, “it makes you ‘blush 
for your gender,’ like Fanny Squeers.” 

“ Well,” rejoined Mrs. Duval, “ if Amelia Dixon 
is too forward in society that is no excuse for the 
rest of you going to the other extreme. An authority 


94 


E VEXING S A T SC HO OL. 


on this subject says, in a letter to liis pupil : i As for 
mauvaise honte , I hope you are above it. Why not 
go into a mixed company with as little concern as 
you would go into your room ? Yice and ignorance 
are the only things I know that one ought to be 
ashamed of ; keep clear of these, and you may go 
anywhere without shame or concern.’ ” 


TEAT DREADFUL NANNIE BURT. 


95 


XVII. 

THAT DREADFUL NANNIE BURT. 

“ Officious, innocent, sincere.” — Johnson. 

“ So Nannie Burt lias gone home,” observed 
Mollie Archer one evening. “Well, Nannie was a 
good girl, but I am not the least bit sorry that I 
have seen, or, rather, that I have heard, the last of 
her. She could make the most disagreeable speeches 
I ever listened to, and yet make them so innocently.” 

“Yes,” returned Belle Templeton, “it was her 
innocence that made what she said so exasperating. 
If any of the other girls had made such remarks I 
would have immediately set it down to spitefulness, 
and then it wouldn’t have been half so hard to 
bear.” 

“Nannie was always looking me up and down,” 
said Mollie, “ to find something wrong about my dress 
that she might tell me of. There has been many a 
day when I am sure she could not have paid proper 
attention to morning prayers because her mind was 
so taken up with me. As soon as the 6 Amen ’ was 
said she would come tearing across to where I was 
standing and inform me that my collar was not 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


pinned straight, or my hair was slipping down, or 
something else was the matter, and, as then the break- 
fast-bell was just about to ring, of course there was no 
time to go up-stairs to remedy matters ; so I was only 
made uncomfortable for nothing.” 

“ Yes,” remarked Belle, 

“ 4 Where ignorance is bliss, 

’Tis folly to be wise.’ 

But you were not the only girl that Nannie perse- 
cuted. She annoyed poor Sue Mansfield so dread- 
fully at one time that Mrs. Duval herself was obliged 
to come to the rescue. It was, 6 O, Sue, you are look- 
ing so badly!’ or, ‘O, poor Sue, you are growing 

thinner and thinner! You ought to go to the Y 

Springs this summer, and try to put some flesh on 
your bones. My Aunt Sophia went there a perfect 
skeleton — thinner even, if possible, than you are — 
and came away very much improved in appearance ; ’ 
or, ‘Sue, I’d send for a doctor if I were you. You 
look just as my Cousin Hattie did before she was 
taken down with typhus fever. I remember her com- 
plexion was like a tallow candle.’ Sue stood it all 
for some time with wonderful patience, for her, but 
the explosion came at last, and it was a terrific one. 
I never knew till that day how Sue could scold. 
When she had said all she had to say and flounced 
out of the room Nannie quietly informed the rest of 


THAT DREADFUL NANNIE BURT. 97 

the company that poor Sue must have been feeling 
unusually ill that day, or she never would have spoken 
so crossly. 

“ ‘ Why on earth did you remark on her looking ill, 
you little nincompoop ? ’ asked that Miss Jones, who 
roomed with Nannie last year. 

“ 4 Because she does look so,’ replied Nannie. 

“ ‘ And so have you a turned-up nose,’ said Miss 
Jones, ‘but you wouldn’t thank people to be always 
telling you of it, would you?’ 

“ Nannie made no reply, and looked so offended that 
I hoped she had taken in the reproof, but — would you 
believe it? — that very day she was at Sue again. 
Fortunately, Mrs. Duval heard her, and after Sue had 
left the room took her in hand, asking her as a favor 
to herself never to make another remark to Miss 
Mansfield on the subject of her health, as such 
speeches annoyed the young lady herself beyond meas- 
ure, and, consequently, were extremely offensive to 
her friends. 

“‘Why, I am one of Sue’s friends,’ said Nannie, 
‘ and that is the very reason why I hate to see her 
looking so scrawny and miserable.’ 

“‘Then you take a very odd way to show your 
friendship,’ returned Mrs. Duval, ‘continually mak- 
ing speeches that she has given you to understand are 
disagreeable to her. I presume your mother taught 

you, when you were wearing pinafores, that it is ex- 

7 


93 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


ceedingly ill-bred ever to remind any one of a per- 
sonal defect ; now let me teach you that it is very 
impolite to keep harping upon any one’s looking ill.’ ” 
“ I don’t think Nannie’s mother ever taught her 
any thing of the kind,” observed Mollie, reflectively. 
44 I mean that it is ill-bred to remind any one of a per- 
sonal defect.” 

“ She may have tried,” returned Belle, 44 but I am 
very sure she did not succeed. I remember when 
Hattie Hammond came she was put temporarily in 
the room with Nannie Burt. The first evening after 
her arrival I went into Fanny’s room to borrow a 
pen-knife, and, being introduced to Hattie, I re- 
marked that she was strikingly like her cousin, Carrie 
Hammond, who had been here the year before. 4 Yes,’ 
said Nannie, 4 there is some resemblance, but Carrie 
Hammond was pretty ; she didn’t have a long nose.’ ” 
44 What did poor Iiattie say to that? ” asked Mollie. 
44 Say? Why, there was nothing to be said; but 
when I had sharpened my pencil, and was about to 
go, she asked me if this were a finishing school.” 

44 1 suppose she thought a few more such speeches 
would finish her,” said Mollie. 44 Hattie herself is by 
no means a Madame de Maintenon, but I believe rudo 
girls are as sensitive to rudeness as we polite ones are.” 

44 Poor Kate Drury was the greatest sufferer from 
Nannie when those three girls roomed together,” 
Belle went on. 44 It was only occasionally that Nan- 


THAT DREADFUL NANNIE BURT. 


99 


nie attacked Hattie’s nose, but she was at Kate’s hair 
continually. It was, 4 Such a one’s liair was awfully 
red, as. red as Kate’s, there ; ’ or, ‘ If Kate would only 
use a lead comb it would improve the color of her 
hair ; ’ or, ‘ One would think, judging by her hair, that 
Kate was passionate, but she isn’t.’ ” 

“ I think Nannie was a trial even to as sensible a 
woman as Miss Bond,” returned Mollie. “ It is sel- 
dom that Miss Bond ever shows that she is annoyed, 
but when Nannie would begin, as she often did, with, 
4 When I am an old maid like you, Miss Bond,’ I have 
more than once heard her say that Miss Burt and the 
biddies were the only persons she had ever met who 
would call a woman an old maid to her face.” 

“Nannie just the other day sent Laura Lamar off 
into a fit of hysterics with her well-meant foolishness,” 
said Belle. “ ‘ O, you poor, dear child ! ’ exclaimed she, 
before a whole roomful of us. 4 I was so sorry for 
you when you broke down at the concert Wednesday 
evening. It is a shame for Mr. Haas to make you 
play when he knows you cannot do it. When you 
took your seat at the piano I could see that you were 
going to fail, and it made me perfectly miserable.’ 
I suppose she would have said more if Laura had not 
stopped her by running out of the room crying.” 

Here the conversation was interrupted by the 
prayer-bell, but the following evening it was re- 
sumed, with other talkers to take part in it.” 


100 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


XYIII. 

THAT DREADFUL FANNIE BURT.— (Concluded.) 

“ 0, liow a single fault will spoil 

The brightest and the best ! ” — Jane Taylor. 

“ Poor Nannie Burt !” said Sue Mansfield, glancing 
around the parlor on the evening after the foregoing 
conversation ; “ I wonder if she has reached home yet. 
I seem to miss her, somehow.” 

“ I like to miss her,” said Mollie Archer, heartlessly. 

“Nannie was one of the best-hearted and best-in- 
tentioned girls in school,” said Mrs. Duval, addressing 
herself to Mollie, and speaking rather rebukingly. 

“ I haven’t the least doubt of it,” replied Mollie ; 
“ but she was also one of the most disagreeable.” 

“Do you remember what Thackeray says? ” asked 
Mrs. Duval. “ ‘ It is well for us that we have backs, 
and that our ears do not grow on them.’ ” 

“ Why, my dear lady,” exclaimed Mollie, “ I have 
said the same thing to Nannie’s face, in one way or 
another, time and again. Not that it was of the least 
use, however, as she couldn’t be taught.” 

“ Her teachers did not say that of her,” returned 
Mrs. Duval. “ She stood very well in her classes. It 
was not intellect that Nannie lacked.” 


TEAT DREADFUL NANNIE BURT. 


101 


“Then what was it?” demanded Belle Templeton. 
“ Slie certainly lacked something most dreadfully. If 
there was a wrong thing to say Nannie was sure to 
say it, and I do not believe there is a girl in this 
school with a personal defect who wasn’t reminded 
of it by Nannie at one time or another.” 

“ Yes,” said Sue, u we all had to put personal vanity 
into our pockets when Nannie came along. She 
didn’t approve of it.” 

“ She didn’t tolerate vanity of any kind,” observed 
Mollie. “ Last Saturday I spent the whole morning 
in her room, helping her make a dress for her baby 
niece, and I thought I had made myself very agree- 
able, but when the dinner-bell rang she crushed me 
by saying, 6 This has been a very long morning.’ ” 

“ And if people make failures,” added Laura Lamar, 
“ she never lets them hear the last of it. That sacque 
I made for myself last winter, she was always remark- 
ing on its fit — or rather its want of fit — and saying 
that if I tried to make my own things I should first 
take lessons from a dress-maker, as her Cousin Agnes 
did.” 

“ Belle is right,” observed Sue. “ If there was a 
wrong thing to say Nannie was sure to say it.” 

“ Don’t the rest of you sometimes make unpleasant 
speeches ? ” demanded Mrs. Duval. 

“ All except me,” returned Mollie. 

“ And me,” added Laura. 


102 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


“ I suppose we all make them at times,” said Sue ; 
“ but Nannie was making them all the time.” 

“ It is so easy to criticise,” observed Mrs. Duval. 

“ And so hard to bear with Nannie Burt,” sighed 
Mollie. 

“ Then,” rejoined Mrs. Duval, “in order to render 
it easier for others to bear with you, it would be well 
for all of you to look out for the rocks on which 
Nannie struck and try to avoid them.” 

“ Rock number one, putting people out of conceit 
with their looks,” said Mollie. 

“ No use to put that down on my chart,” observed 
Belle. “ I was taught that at home along with my 
A, B, C.” 

“ So was I,” said Mollie ; “ but I do it sometimes 
in revenge, when I have insulting remarks made 
about my looks.” 

(“ Forgetting the Golden Rule.”) This from Mrs. 
Duval, parenthetically. 

“So was I,” said Maggie Yates; “but I forget it 
sometimes.” 

“I suppose Nannie was, too, but she forgot all the 
time,” observed Sue. 

“Rock number two, reminding unmarried women 
of their age,” said Mollie. 

“You needn’t put that down on my chart, either,” 
returned Belle. “ Once upon a time mamma engaged 
a lately landed biddy as housemaid, and I shall never 


THAT DREADFUL NANNIE BURT 


103 


forget wliat trouble she had in trying to prevail on 
the creature to stop speaking of my governess as ‘that 
old woman,’ or c that old maid.’ The expression ‘ old 
maid’ is inseparably associated in my mind with that 
terrible biddy, who was finally discharged for drunk- 
enness, and it isn’t the least bit probable that I should 
ever be so raw as to use it myself.” 

“ It is well sometimes to have an example set us 
of how not to behave,” observed Mrs. Duval. 

“ I doubt if Nannie was ever blessed with an ex- 
ample of that kind,” said Sue. “ When she first came 
here she was always addressing Miss Bond as ‘Mrs. 
Bond,’ and when corrected she would apologize by 
saying, ‘ O, I forgot you were an old maid.’ If I had 
been Miss Bond I should have marked her zero then 
and there.” 

“ Bock number three,” said Mollie, “ letting people 
know that they are not such agreeable company as they 
might suppose. Now, Belle, don’t say that this needn't 
go down on your chart, for when you were taking care 
of the new girl yesterday you yawned most distress- 
ingly.” 

“ The new girl didn’t try to be agreeable company,” 
returned Belle. “And besides, I covered my mouth 
every time I yawned. I suppose I was taught to do 
that when I was a baby.” 

“ It is better to repress a yawn than to try to cover 
it up,” remarked Mrs. Duval. 


104 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


“Rock number four,” said Mollie, “ reminding 
people of their failures.” 

u Yes,” observed Laura, feelingly; u especially in 
the matter of sacques.” 

She did not mention concert failures, that being, as 
we knew, entirely too painful a recollection. 

“ Rock number five,” said Mollie, “ telling people 
how badly they look. It took me a long time to 
forgive Nannie for saying to me that ever since I had 
the measles I had been looking cadaverous.” 

“ Then be very careful to avoid that rock yourself,” 
returned Mrs. Duval. “ It seems to me I heard some 
one the other day say to Ellen Gordon that she looked 
like Death on the pale horse.” 

“I know I did,” replied Mollie; “but Ellen had 
brought down a hand-mirror to the hall, and had been 
admiring herself in it and flashing the light into my 
eyes till flesh and blood could bear it no longer.” 

“ So it was spitefulness in you, then,” said Mrs. 
Duval ; “not simple want of tact, as would have been 
the case with Nannie.” 

“ Tact,” repeated Belle, musingly ; “ I have been 
hearing that word all my life, and yet I am not sure 
that I know the meaning of it. IIow would you define 
it, Mrs. Duval ? ” 

“ The best definition,” returned Mrs. Duval, “ has 
been given us by a novelist : ‘ Tact is knowing what 
not to say.’ ” 


GIGGLES. 


105 


XIX. 

GIGGLES. 

“Fool me no fools.” — B ulwer. 

“ That was a fine-looking man who came to call on 
Belle and Fanny this morning,” observed Mollie 
Archer one evening when, the candles not having yet 
been brought in, the darkness prevented her distin- 
guishing Belle Templeton among the group in the 
back parlor. 

‘‘That was our cousin, Colonel Courtney,” returned 
the latter. 

“ O, my poor nerves ! ” exclaimed Mollie, starting. 
“ Suppose I had said he was an ugly creature ! ” 

“ It was not probable you would say that,” ob- 
served Belle. “ lie is so much handsomer than other 
people that, though I had not seen him for years, I 
should have recognized him immediately, even if he 
had not sent up his card. lie said he should never 
have known me in the world, I had grown so tall and 
womanly ; and then he went on to say that when he 
saw me last I was at the giggling age.” 

“ ‘ I may have been at the giggling age, whatever 
age that may be,’ said I ; ‘ but I am very sure, Cousin 
Albert, you never knew me to giggle.’ 


106 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


“ i That I do not remember,’ lie replied ; c but most 
girls do giggle when they are in their early teens.’ 
And then he went on to quote some lines about bud- 
ding misses, and giggles and blushes.” 

“ I dare say I know what they were,” observed 
Sue Mansfield. “My Cousin Henry used to quote 
them : 

“ ‘ ’Tis true your budding miss is very charming, 

But shy and awkward on first coming out ; 

So much alarmed that she is quite alarming, 

All giggle, blush, half pertness and half pout ; 

And glancing at mamma for fear there’s harm in 
What you, she, it, or they may be about: 

The nursery lisps out in all they utter, 

Besides, they always smell of bread and butter.’ 

Henry cannot endure girls of that age. He says when 
they begin to giggle he takes it for granted they are 
laughing at him, and it makes him so uncomfortable 
that he is inclined to take his departure forthwith.” 

“I believe it has that effect on all men,” said 
Maggie Yates. “ I mean young ones. My brother 
Philip says he hates girls of the giggling age, and he 
wishes they could skip from twelve to seventeen.” 

“ I know some girls,” remarked Sue, “ who are 
over seventeen and continue to giggle like gabies. 
And they always giggle at nothing in the world ; 
that’s the worst of it. If there were really any thing 
to laugh at they would let it be known, so all the com- 
pany might join in, if they felt so disposed.” 


GIGGLES. 


107 


“ Gigglers never laugh at any thing really laugha- 
ble,” said Mollie. “ If you were to repeat one of 
Douglas Jerrold’s best jokes to Amelia Dixon she 
wouldn’t smile. She would onty say, ‘ Is tha-at so V 
She and J ennie nearly went off into convulsions when 
some one upset the sugar-bowl on our table this morn- 
ing, but they couldn’t see the point of a joke to save 
their lives.” 

“ A toilet out of gear is the kind of joke they ap- 
preciate,” observed Sue. “ I heard Amelia say that 

the last time they were in X they nearly killed 

themselves laughing at a lady who was sailing along 
the street dressed within an inch of her life and 
quite unconscious that her back hair was slipping 
down. I can imagine what a spectacle those two 
gawks presented while they were following her and 
giggling.’’ 

“ They can also see the joke in a pretty serious acci- 
dent,” returned Mollie. “ To let Amelia tell it, they 
actually did die laughing yesterday when poor Mr. 
Haas fell down the back steps and hurt his knee so 
badly. They were standing on the back piazza at 
the time, and ‘ they wouldn’t have missed it, not for 
pay.’ ” 

“ They were giggling so at prayers this morning,” 
said Sue, “that I thought Mrs. Duval would have 
to speak to them ; and what do you think it was all 
about ? Mr. Richards had forgotten his neck-tie.” 


108 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


“ It would have been a great deal better for those 
girls and us too,” remarked Mollie, “ if they had been 
sent to some respectable idiot asylum, instead of St. 
Mary’s.” 

“ I don’t think we have any harm from them,” re- 
turned Belle, “ though of course it is mortifying to 

have them pointed out in X as St. Mary’s girls. 

If I were Dr. Duval I’d be afraid it might injure 
the school.” 

“ He hopes, or rather Mrs. Duval hopes, to semi- 
civilize them in time,” observed Sue. “ Amelia says 
she ‘ jawed them like any thing ’ the other day when 
she heard them ‘ kicking up jack’ in their room, and 
on going in to stop the noise found they had Felice 
Brudhomme in there and were ‘ killing themselves 
laughing ’ at her broken English. I am sure their own 
English is not so good that they can afford to laugh 
at Felice’s. Amelia says that ‘after having such a row 
from Mrs. Duval on her account they are never going 
to take no more notice of her, and she may sell her 
embroidery to who she likes. They wont buy not 
another stitch.’ ” 

“ Felice wont lose much by that,” observed Mollie. 
“ Whatever they have bought from her they have paid 
starvation prices for.” 

“ I have never yet,” said Belle, “ encountered a 
vulgar girl, no matter how rich she might be, who did 
not try to get twice as much for a dollar as she ought 


GIGGLES. 


109 


to have. I have seen these Miss Dixons haggle with 
the fruit-woman until the poor thing would be worried 
into letting them pay what they liked.” 

“ And then,” rejoined Mollie, “ they show their 
gratitude by killing themselves laughing at the sight 
of her as she goes limping away. The idea of laugh- 
ing at a bodily infirmity ! I don’t believe giggling 
girls have any souls.” 

u £ Ilia Allah ilia] I don’t believe it either ! ” ex- 
claimed Sue, who had just been reading Lalla Rookh. 
u Mollie, I think you and I will both become good 
Mussulmans, or Mussulwomans, if we have much 
more to do with Amelia and Jennie and other gig- 
glers and snickerers. Mrs. Duval, you always con- 
trive to come in just when I happen to be talking 
about the Dixons — the Misses Dixon, I mean.” 

“ I fear that is something which happens very 
often,” returned Mrs. Duval. “ And do you know 
why such talk is suggestive of sounding brass and 
tinkling cymbals ? ” 

“ I suppose it is because you think I have not char- 
ity,” said Sue. “ Well, 1 haven’t much of it where 
under-bred girls are concerned.” 

“ Those girls would probably be quite as well-bred as 
you are if they had had your social advantages,” re- 
turned Mrs. Duval. “ And, bearing this in mind, I 
trust you will try to cultivate sufficient charity to 
make allowances.” 


110 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL . 


XX. 

WINKING AND BLINKING. 

“ ‘The extent to which he is winking at this moment ! ’ whispered 
Caleb to his daughter. ‘Ah, my gracious! ’ ’’—Cricket on the Hearth. 

“ What are you laughing at, Mollie ? ” asked Belle 
Templeton ; for Mollie Archer, who had taken up a 
volume of Hood’s prose works from the table, seemed 
to be highly amused by something she had found in it. 

“ I am reading,” replied she, “ about the two school- 
ma’ams who were traveling abroad with their invalid 
father, and their attempts to make the foreign doctor 
understand them. They wished to let him know that 
the patient had not slept a wink the night before, but 
had forgotten the French for wink. 4 Just wink at 
him, and then he will understand what you mean,’ 
suggested one, but the other protested that she couldn’t 
think of doing any thing so improper.” 

u I admire her refinement,” said Belle. “ If there 
is one vulgar trick that I detest above all others it is 
the habit of winking and blinking.” 

“ Winking and blinking,” repeated Sue Mansfield, 
musingly. “ I suppose blinking is added on account 
of the rhyme. To blink means to wink, but I notice 
that the two words often go together.” 


WINKING AND BLINKING. 


Ill 


“ Tliat reminds me,” said Mollie, “ of Mrs. McStinger 
(in Dombey and Son) complaining of Captain Cattle’s 
‘guzzlings and his muzzlings,’ muzzlings not mean- 
ing any thing, but being put in for rhyme.” 

“ We often speak of persons winking and blinking,” 
remarked Sue, “ wlien really they don’t wink ; they 
only look at one another and smirk, making some 
third person in the company feel dreadfully uncom- 
fortable.” 

“ I am always nervous when there are two under- 
bred persons in the company,” said Belle, “ just be- 
cause I know that, sooner or later, they will be sure 
to exchange glances at somebody’s expense ; and, as 
mamma says, it is remarkable how many persons there 
are, not particularly vulgar in other respects, who will 
be guilty of such a trick.” 

“ Amelia and Jennie Dixon are at it constantly,” 
observed Maggie Yates. 

“ O, nobody expects any thing better from them,” 
returned Belle. “ I was speaking of comparatively 
decent people. I have seen society ladies and college 
students and other persons that one expects to be 
civilized exchanging glances at some third person’s ex- 
pense, and not seeming to be in the least ashamed of 
themselves. I had a governess once who was quite 
learned and accomplished, and who claimed to have 
taught in the best families. She was always saying, 
‘No lady does this,’ and ‘No lady does that;’ but, 


112 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


young as I was at the time, I used to notice that she 
often tried to make mamma exchange glances with 
her at the expense of some third person in the com- 
pany.” 

“ Did Mrs. Templeton wink responsively ? ” asked 
Mollie. 

“ Ugh ! ” exclaimed Belle. “ The idea of such a 
thing ! Mamma used to say, ‘ Excuse me, did you 
speak? I fancied you were looking at me.’ And 
one day I overheard her taking the governess to task 
for such behavior, telling her that, as Fanny and I 
had been taught that it was excessively ill-bred, it 
would certainly lessen our respect for her to see her 
indulge in it. She — I mean the governess now — was 
highly offended, and not long afterward asked, as a 
favor, to be released from her engagement to us, say- 
ing she really could not endure the tedium of country 
life, shut up as she was with uncongenial people. I 
suppose she missed responsive winks.” 

“ I dare say Mrs. Templeton was glad enough to 
get rid of her,” observed Sue. “ I know of nothing 
that insults me more than to have some vulgar creature 
attempt to exchange glances with me at the expense 
of another person. If I give a look in return it is 
one that i means wenom.’ ” 

“ It is an insult,” responded Mollie. “ To have any 
one try to exchange glances with you is just the same 
as to have her say, 6 You and I are birds of a feather, 


WINKING AND BLINKING. 


113 


madam. You are quite as vulgar and under-bred as 
myself.’ I felt disposed to box Amelia Dixon’s ears 
the other day when Mr. Haas made a remark to Laura 
Lamar, in passing a group of us on the back piazza, 
causing her, of course, to blush furiously, whereupon 
Amelia had the audacity to look at me and smirk. c I 
am glad to find you admiring me, Amelia,’ said I, 1 1 
am feeling lovely this afternoon.’ 6 It’s more than you 
look,’ returned she. 4 Then why did you gaze at me 
with that benignant smile ? ’ asked I. ‘ You aint par- 
ticularly good-looking, and you aint so smart as you 
think yourself,’ said she ; and then she walked away, 
looking so vexed that I hoped she understood my re- 
buke ; but the very next time I came across her and 
Jennie they were winking and blinking in their usual 
style.” 

“ Amelia has more than once tried to effect an ex- 
change of winks with me,” observed Sue, “ but I have 
given her to understand that it cannot be done. Why, 
I should almost as soon be nudged; and that is ex- 
pressing myself strongly.” 

“ One trick is quite as vulgar as the other,” said 
Belle. 

“ I know that, ” returned Sue ; “ but in Amelia’s 
case winking is less trying, because her eyes are not 
so sharp as her elbows.” 

“ The creature actually had the effrontery to nudge 

me the other day,” said Belle. “We were sitting 
8 


114 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


around the stove in the laboratory waiting for Mr. 
Richards to come in, and Ellen Gordon, after looking 
at herself in the concave mirror that was lying on the 
table, remarked that even toilet hand-mirrors seldom 
did full justice to a girl’s looks ; whereupon here came 
Miss Dixon’s elbow into my side.” 

“ Did you faint ? ” asked Mollie. 

“ No ; I only gave her a look, and, pulling my chair 
away as far as I could, said, ‘ Excuse me, Miss Dixon, 
I fear I have been crowding you.’ She understood 
me, for she turned to her sister, who was sitting on 
the other side of her, and remarked in a loud whisper 
that I was giving myself no end of airs considering I 
had been wearing that same old gray merino ever 
since the cold weather set in.” 

“ It was strange she should have nudged you when 
Jennie was in nudging distance on the other side,” 
observed Sue. “There is one thing I will say for 
those girls, and that is that they are uncommonly har- 
monious. Whatever Amelia says and thinks Jennie 
says and thinks, and vice versaP 

“ Yes,” responded Mollie, executing her French 
shrug : 

“ ‘ Two souls with but a single thought,’ 

Four eyes that wink as two.” 


BORES. 


115 


XXI. 

BORES. 

“ Talk often, but never long. Pay your own reckoning, but do not 
treat the whole company ; this being one of the very few cases in 
which people do not care to be treated, every one being fully con- 
vinced that he has wherewithal to pay.” — Chesterfield. 

“ What’s the matter, Mollie?” asked Sue Mans- 
field, as Mollie Archer, coming into the back parlor 
one evening, sank upon the sofa and closed her eyes 
without saying a word. 

“ Bored to death,” was the faint reply. “Don’t 
speak to me. Let me rest my tongue and brain.” 

“ I know what’s tlie trouble,” observed Maggie 
Yates. “ Mollie has had charge of the new girl, the 
one we saw on the back piazza this afternoon. Don’t 
you remember ? She had her lips set just so.” And 
Maggie screwed up her lips as though she never 
meant to unscrew them again. 

“Yes, I remember,” said Sue. “I could see she 
was lively company. Poor Mollie looked like Patience 
on a monument. What have you done with her, 
Mollie ? ” 

“Miss Bond has her now, making out her schedule 
of time,” replied Mollie. “ I had her on my hands 
from four o’clock this afternoon till tea-time, and I 


116 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


liave told lier all I know and asked her all the ques- 
tions I could think of, for not one word would she say 
except in reply to a direct inquiry. I think I asked 
her three times if she had traveled far to-day, and 
four times if she had ever been at boarding-school be- 
fore, and whenever I couldn’t think of any thing else 
to say I would remark that it was a very warm after- 
noon for the season. I can always do my share of any 
talk that happens to be going on here, but I never 
could make talk without assistance ; and of all the 
bores one comes into contact with deliver me from the 
one who wont say any thing ! ” 

“ Deliver me,” said Maggie, “ from the new girl who 
always tells me what a superior school she attended be- 
fore she came here ; and how much finer the grounds 
were ; and how high she stood in her classes, though 
she never studied ; and what a favorite she was with 
all her teachers, though they disapproved of a school- 
girl having so many gentlemen friends to visit her ; 
and how many offers of marriage she has had already ; 
and how much afraid her parents are that she will en- 
gage herself before leaving school, which is the reason 
they have sent her to this out-of-the-way place.” 

“ Which talk, you are confident, is all your grand- 
mamma,” said Sue. “ Dear me, I am glad Mrs. Du- 
val didn’t hear that ! It slipped out unawares. The 
girl I most abhor on first acquaintance is the whining 
girl who knows she will never-r be h-happy again till 


BORES. 


117 


she goes h-liome. I try, at first, to comfort her, but 
when she wont be comforted, no matter what I say, 
I lose all patience and wish she were at the other end 
of creation.” 

“ I think,” said Belle Templeton, “ that the most 
tiresome girl I ever knew at St. Mary’s was Gussie 
Stone. Do you remember her, Sue ? ” 

“ Remember her ! ” exclaimed Sue. “ I should say 
I did ! The very mention of her name produces a 
buzzing in my ears. She was the most merciless 
talker I ever encountered in my life.” 

“ She wasn’t so bad at first,” said Belle ; “ but unfor- 
tunately she, one Saturday, overheard a visitor in the 
parlor remark to Mrs. Duval that ‘that young lady’ 
(meaning Gussie) ‘ seemed to have uncommonly fine 
conversational powers;’ and after that she became 
simply unendurable. She was rooming at that time 
with Fanny and me, and from morning till night it 
was how Aunt Jane kept house, and what Cousin 
Tabitha wore at her first party, and how many serv- 
ants brother Sam’s wife kept — nothing but talk, talk, 
talk, until, finally, I implored Mrs. Duval to take her 
out of the room, as we were in danger of being talked 
to death.” 

“ It seems strange to me,” said Sue, “ that every 
body doesn’t know that people don’t care to listen to 
one person’s talk all the time. Why, no matter how 
interesting a theologue may be, I notice in the chapel 


118 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


that we all begin to watcli the clock if his sermon 
runs over the accustomed half-hour ; and it isn’t so 
merely in the case of preachers ; the most delightful 
lecturer alive wouldn’t be likely to keep an audience 
listening to him for more than an hour and a half on 
a stretch; and yet that everlasting Gussie had the 
impudence to expect us to listen to her talk for hours 
upon hours.” 

“Well,” observed Mollie, “ I think Gussie was the 
lesser of two evils. She wasn’t half so tiresome as 
the girl I was trying to talk to this afternoon. If I 
am to do all the talking or all the listening, let me 
listen.” 

“I am not sure which I should prefer,” said Sue, 
shaking her head dubiously. “ It is a dreadful thing 
to be talked to death.” 

“ And a still dreadfuler thing,” rejoined Mollie, 
“ to kill one’s self trying to do all the talk.” 

“ I should take care to avoid either fate,” said 
Belle. 

“ It cannot be done always,” returned Mollie. 
“ There is a girl living near us at home who is con- 
stantly coming to see me during vacation, and what 
she comes for I cannot imagine, as she never has a 
solitary word to say for herself. I tell her all I know, 
and then we sit and look at one another until it is 
time for her to go home.” 

“ Well, I should think,” observed Belle, “ that if 


BORES. : 


119 


it ever were excusable to be ‘ not at home ’ when one 
is at home it would be in a case of this kind.” 

“ And the worst of it is,” said Mollie, “ that I have 
no sympathy from my own people. Mamma only 
laughs at me when I complain, and as for my Aunt 
Ellen, who lives with us, she thinks it is no laughing 
matter, but quite inexcusable in me not to be delighted 
to have visits from a girl whom I have known since 
we were babies. These sentimental people, who can- 
not take a common-sense view of matters, are a terri- 
ble trial.” 

“ I wish all girls knew,” observed Belle, “ that 
great talkers and mutes are both tiresome in the 
extreme.” 

“ Yes,” said Sue ; “ then, as Dr. Duval would ex- 
press it, they would take care to avoid both the Scylla 
of silence and the Charybdis of too much talk.” 


120 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


XXII. 

DETUR PULCHRIORI. 

“Comparisons are odorous.” — Shakespeare. 

One cool afternoon early in October, as a number 
of the girls were strolling about the grounds in front 
of the house, our attention was suddenly attracted by 
two college-boys— pests, Dr. Duval used to call them 
— who made their appearance among the branches of 
a great elm overhanging the south Avail, and the next 
thing we knew an immense red apple came bouncing- 
down among us bearing the penknife-carved inscrip- 
tion, “ Detur jpulchrioriP What detur jpulchriori 
meant none of us knew (Bertha Holt not being pres- 
ent), but, fortunately for our curiosity, Mr. Berger 
came out soon afterward, and he gave the translation, 
“ Let the fairest possess me.” We were all of us suf- 
ficiently familiar with Lempriere’s Dictionary to recall 
the story of the apple of discord thrown in among the 
guests at the marriage of Peleus and Thetis, and aft- 
erward given by Paris to the fairest. 

“ Come, Mr. Berger,” cried Moliie, holding up her 
apron with both hands, “ you must be our Paris.” 

“ Pas si bete ,” replied Mr. Berger, shrugging his 
shoulders. “ I gif it to one of you and de oders pull 


DETUB P UL CHRIORI. 


121 


out my few remaining hair by de root. Non ! gif it 
to yourselves.” 

So saying lie dropped the ajiple on the grass and 
went on his way. 

“ Here comes Mr. Richards,” said Mollie. “ lie’ll 
do.” 

“ All right ! ” responded Mr. Richards, when he 
learned what was wanted of him. Taking the apple 
he looked from face to face (there were about a dozen 
of us present) with a serious, scrutinizing gaze, and 
then remarking, “ I believe I myself am the fairest,” 
pocketed the fruit and walked off, quite regardless of 
our protests. He w T as one of the plainest of men, 
but Mrs. Duval, when she heard the story that even- 
ing, observed that he had shown a great deal more 
tact than Paris in extricating himself from a delicate 
position. “ It is very well,” said she, “ to remark 
that a girl is pretty, but rather unwise to say she is 
prettier than another girl, and very unwise indeed to 
pronounce her to be the prettiest girl of a roomful.” 

“ I should very much like to have some one say that 
of me,” observed Ellen Gordon. 

“Yes; but how would the other girls like it?” 
asked Mrs. Duval. “ Remember, comparisons are 
odious.” 

“ That they are ! ” exclaimed Sue Mansfield. “ I 
have a cousin at home just about my own age, and it 
does seem as if our people cannot possibly mention 


122 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


me without bringing that girl in. If I play on the 
piano it is, 4 Sue’s touch is not so brilliant as Ada ? s ; ’ 
if I sing it is, 4 Sue has a loud voice, but it is not so 
sweet as Ada’s ; ’ if I dress it is, 4 She cannot wear 
the colors that Ada can ; she hasn’t such a fresh 
complexion.’ ” 

44 I don’t blame you for thinking those comparisons 
odious,” observed Maggie Yates, “ for you seem to 
come out second best every time.” 

“Well, if I did not come out second best Ada 
would,” returned Sue, “ and then the comparisons 
w r ould be odious to her if she were to hear them. 
They are horrible things, any way they can be taken.” 

“ It is a wonder I don’t hate Dora,” said Ellen Gor- 
don. “ Among our relatives it is always, 4 Be sure 
to send Dora to see us, Cousin Jane — and Ellen too 
or, 4 O, Dora, I am so glad to see you — and Ellen 
too ; ’ or, 4 Ellen, you are improving in your music — 
you have begun to play a little like Dora ;’ or 4 How 
is it that Dora is so neat and you are so untidy, and 
Dora has such high marks while you have such low 
ones?”’ 

44 You don’t hear all they say,” responded Dora. 
44 1 have quite as good reason as you to know that 
comparisons are odious. They say, 4 Ellen has her 
mother’s fair complexion and regular features, but 
Dora is like the Gordons ;’ 4 Ellen is naturally grace- 
ful, but Dora should take another course of dancing- 


DETUR PULCHRIORI. 


123 


lessons.’ Nothing could make me hate you, but I do 
hate comparisons with all my heart and soul.” 

“So do I,” said Maggie Yates, “ though I am 
hooked on to nobody worse than mamma. People 
say, ‘Maggie is a sweet-looking girl, but she will 
never be the handsome woman that her mother is ; ’ 
and 4 It is a pity Maggie should take after the Yateses 
instead of her mother’s side of the family.’ ” 

44 I hope,” observed Mollie Archer, 44 that Mrs. 
Yates enjoys such talk, as it is evident that you can- 
not.” 

“ Indeed, she doesn’t ! ” returned Maggie. 44 Mam- 
ma rather likes me, even though I don’t take after her 
side of the family, and she doesn’t care to have me 
talked about in such a style.” 

“ Mamma highly disapproves of comparisons,” said 
Bello Templeton. 44 I remember, when I was quite a 
little thing, I once said to her, 4 Well, mamma, what 
do you think ? Becky Briggs is six years older than 
lam and she cannot read a word, while I am in the 
Second Reader ! ’ 4 Yes,’ replied mamma ; 4 but she 

can flute ruffles just as well as her mother can — Mrs. 
Briggs told me so herself — while, as for you, why, I 
wouldn’t trust you to iron a handkerchief. You 
would be sure to scorch it.’ I thought she needn’t 
have spoken so scornfully, considering it was one of 
her strictest rules that Fanny and I should never go 
into either kitchen or laundry, but, after reflecting 


124 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


a while upon the matter, it occurred to me that I 
myself had been quite as unfair, as the little Briggses 
(Mrs. Briggs was the wife of a lazy creature whom 
she supported by taking in washing) had never been 
inside of a school-house in their lives.” 

“ There is generally a great unfairness in compari- 
sons,” said Mrs. Duval. “ I have been struck with 
this when listening to middle-aged women comparing 
themselves with their own young daughters, seeming 
to be proud of their superiority to the latter as nurses 
or managers, apparently quite forgetting the advan- 
tage given them by a quarter of a century of expe- 
rience.” 

“ Well, Mrs. Duval ! ” exclaimed Mollie. “ This 
is something new under the sun. The idea of your 
criticising mothers instead of daughters ! ” 

“ It is only this once,” returned Mrs. Duval. 
“ Usually I have quite as much as I can attend to in 
pointing out the faults and failings of daughters, and 
I have remarked this only to warn the daughters 
around me here that they are likely to be ridiculed 
for their foolish talk when they are middle-aged 
women if they do not, when young, break themselves 
of the silly habit of making comparisons.” 


FALSE WITNESS. 


125 


XXIII. 

FALSE WITNESS. 

“ Tliou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.” — E xod. 
xx, 16 . 

“ Is it true, Mollie,” asked Hattie Hammond, one 
evening, “ that you said Dora Gordon had the most 
hideous mouth you ever saw in your life ? ” 

“No,” replied Mollie Archer; “ I have seen ever 
so many worse-looking mouths here at St. Mary’s. 
Dora hasn’t a pretty mouth, though, that’s a fact.” 

“ It is reported in the east wing that you said so,” 
Hattie went on; “and Ellen Gordon has heard it, 
and is dreadfully vexed.” 

“I don’t remember ever to have mentioned the 
girl’s mouth,” returned Mollie ; “ and I am very sure 
I never said it was hideous.” 

“ I heard you mention it the other day,” observed 
Belle Templeton. “When Maggie Yates remarked 
that Dora Gordon was an angel, if ever one lived in 
this world, you replied that you didn’t think angels 
had mouths like Dora Gordon.” 

“ That was the way it began, then ! ” exclaimed 
Sue Mansfield. “ That very day I heard Maggie say 
to Laura Lamar, 6 1 think Dora Gordon has a real 


12G 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


nice moutli, though Mollie Archer thinks it is aw- 
fully ugly.’ I suppose when Laura repeated it she 
put 4 says’ for 4 thinks,’ and the next person put 4 hid- 
eous ’ for 4 ugly,’ and the next added the rest. These 
little speeches grow like any thing as they go roll- 
ing along from one end of the house to the other. 
It is a pity so few persons can repeat any thing just 
as they hear it.” 

44 It is a pity so few persons can tell the truth ! ” 
exclaimed Mollie, angrily. 44 Ellen Gordon will 
never get over that speech, as she heard it, though 
she couldn’t have been so foolish as to take offense 
at what I really did say. She must know, herself, 
that Dora has a large, stern-looking mouth, though 
there is nothing hideous about it.” 

44 1 know what it is to have one’s speeches mis- 
quoted,” said Sue. 44 Just before I left home I said 
of a flighty young lady in the neighborhood that she 
acted as if she were not quite right in her mind. It 
was soon repeated that I had said, 4 Miss A — acted 
like a lunatic ; ’ then that 4 Miss A — was no better 
than a raving maniac.’ Some of Miss A — ’s people 
heard of it, and, being sensitive on the subject (as 
there is really a streak of insanity in the blood), they 
came to mamma about it, and mamma scolded me, 
and we had a dreadful time, while the persons who 
repeated what I had said, or rather what I hadn’t 
said, got off scot-free.” 


FALSE WITNESS. 


127 


44 That reminds me of one of my troubles,” said 
Belle Templeton. “When I was at home last sum- 
mer I went to call on a bride, and remarked after- 
ward, 4 She is rather pretty, but she looks old for 
nineteen ; she could easily make me believe she was 
a dozen years older than that.’ When I next heard of 
my speech it was, 4 The bride wasn’t so wonderfully 
pretty after all, and it was foolishness her claiming to 
be young ; she would never see thirty again as long as 
she lived.’ The bride heard of it, and did not return 
my call. What she really said on the subject I do 
not know, but she was reported to have said that she 
4 would show those stuck-up Templetons that, how- 
ever much they might think of themselves, they were 
not good enough for her to visit.’ Mamma was very 
much worried about it, not so much on the bride’s 
account — though, of course, she wouldn’t have us 
wound any one’s self-love — but because the bride’s 
mother-in-law is one of her oldest friends. Dear 
me ! When one thinks of the way in which one’s 
words are taken up and turned and twisted about 
it doesn’t seem safe to speak of any thing but the 
weather.” 

44 It’s breaking the ninth commandment, that’s 
what it is ! ” exclaimed Sue, 44 this repeating speeches 
that people never made, even if there is some little 
foundation to build on. It is bad enough to repeat 
what has really been said — that is, if it is calculated 


128 


EVENINGS Al SCHOOL. 


to do mischief ; but to go altering and adding on to 
a harmless remark till its own mother wouldn’t know 
it is quite as sinful as out-and-out lying.” 

“ And yet,” said Ilattie, “ when every one adds or 
alters just a little, no one seems very much to blame.” 

“ And it is so easy to exaggerate,” said Belle, “ and 
so hard to realize there is any harm in it.” 

“ I can forgive the exaggerators,” said Mollie, 
“ when I know they didn’t mean any harm, as I am 
sure Maggie and Laura didn’t in that mouth story ; 
but I do wish they had had better sense ! ” 

“ Sometimes these alterations are made on purpose,” 
observed Ilattie. “ There was a long estrangement 
between two families in a town where I used to live. 
It was about a law-suit, I believe. The two mothers 
of the families at war belonged to the same church, 
and the minister was a long time trying with all his 
might to get them to make friends. ‘I should be 
quite willing to speak to Mrs. P — ,’ said the young 
daughter of Mrs. M — , ‘ but I understand that she says 
she would give me the cut direct if she were to meet 
me on the street.’ ‘ Is it possible, Mrs. P — ,’ asked the 
minister the next time lie saw her (after telling her 
the story), i is it possible you could have said that 
about a young girl, scarcely more than a child, and 
one who has certainly never done you any harm ? ’ 
‘ Ho, indeed,’ returned Mrs. P — ; ‘ but now I think 
of it, I can guess how such a story got out> Mrs. S — 


FALSE WITNESS* 


129 


was saying to me tlie other day that Carrie M — had 
come home from school taller than her mother. It 
has been so long since I saw Carrie, said I, that I 
should pass her by now if I were to meet her on the 
street. I meant I shouldn’t be able to recognize her.’ ” 

“ I hope the minister gave Mrs. S — a good scold- 
ing,” commented Mollie. 

“ I don’t know about that,” returned Hattie, 
“though I am sure she deserved it. However, thanks 
to his perseverance, Mrs. P — and Mrs. M — became 
good friends in the course of time.” 

“ And what became of the law-suit ? ” asked Sue. 

“ I don’t know about that either,” returned Hattie ; 
“ but as Mrs. P — ’s eldest son afterward married Car- 
rie M — , I suppose the matter was made right.” 

“It must have given the good minister pleasure to 
perform the ceremony,” said Belle. “ It is a pity 
there are so few peace-makers in the world in pro- 
portion to the mischief-makers.” 

“ Peace-making is such difficult, ticklish work,” 
observed Sue, “that no wonder people hesitate about 
going into the business. You remember, of course, 
what Tennyson’s ‘ Grandmother ’ says : 

“ ‘ A lie that is all a lie may be caught and killed outright, 

But a lie that is half a truth is a harder matter to fight.’ ” 

9 


ISO 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


XXIY. 

GODLESS FEMININITY. 

“ A man without religion is to be pitied, but a godless woman is a 
horror above all things.” — B eulah. 

“No celery with the turkey to-morrow,” remarked 
Maggie Yates, as she came into the back parlor one 
Saturday evening. “Mrs. Dawson” (the house- 
keeper) “ stopped me as I was passing her in the 
dining-room just now to break the sad news, as she 
knows what a celery-eater I am. She said Dr. 
DuvaPs beloved Essex pigs broke into the garden 
this afternoon and rooted up the whole bed before 
Mr. Jenkins discovered them.” 

“ Yes,” returned Mollie Archer ; “ when I was 
out taking a constitutional this afternoon I overheard 
a pow-wow about it between Dr. Duval and Mr. 
Jenkins, who were standing on the other side of the 
hedge. Mr. Jenkins was in quite a rage, and used 
such bad words that Dr. Duval had to reprove him 
for inconsistency. 1 Why, Jenkins,’ said he, 6 when 
I asked you, the other day, why you didn’t go to 
church you informed me that you took no stock in 
religion, and believed in neither God nor devil ; yet 
here you are, calling on the Almighty to damn the 


GODLESS FEMININITY. 


131 


carpenter who made the garden fence, and the boy 
who saw the broken palings and didn’t tell you about 
them, and even my poor pigs. It seems to me you 
are worse than the fool in the Bible, who said in his 
heart, “ There is no God for you say there is no God, 
and then call upon a Deity you don’t believe in to 
send people and pigs to a devil you don’t believe in 
— in short, you are as unreasonable as a madman.’ ” 

u What did Mr. Jenkins say to that ? ” asked 
Maggie. 

“ He said, £ Well, I suppose I have been talking 
like a big fool, and I am sorry I didn’t have no better 
sense than to lose my temper.’” 

“ That reminds me,” observed Belle Templeton, “of 
that Pauline Legare who was here some years ago. 
Like Mr. Jenkins, she believed in neither God nor 
devil, but, all the same, she couldn’t say a dozen words 
without exclaiming, ‘Mon Dieu!’’ or ‘Juste Ciel /’ 
or something of that kind. And then, the night of 
that memorable thunder-storm, when the kitchen was 
struck by lightning, and for a while the world seemed 
to be coming to an end, she forgot her atheism com- 
pletely, crossed herself like mad, and rattled off aves 
and paters by the dozen.” 

“ Where did she learn them ? ” asked Laura La- 
mar. 

“ She had been for years in a convent before she 
came here,” said Mollie. “ She told me that when 


132 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


she was there the sisters thought her the most saintly 
creature alive. For any thing I know Dr. and Mrs. 
Duval may have had the same opinion of her. I re- 
member how nun-like and sweet she used to look in 
chapel, in her close-fitting black serge dress, and 
with what she called her ( church expression ’ on ; 
but it was well for her that Mrs. Duval never ex- 
amined her Bible. The margins of the leaves were 
covered with notes that were bad enough in French, 
and in English would have been simply dreadful. 
She was the only room-mate I ever had who didn’t say 
her prayers. She informed me once, when I hinted 
to her that it would be only right and proper to do 
so, that she had had prayers enough at the convent 
(where there was a sister in the dormitory with her) 
to last her the remainder of her natural life. The only 
satisfaction I had in having Pauline for a room-mate 
(except the opportunity of improving my pronuncia- 
tion of French) was in bothering her about the fool- 
ishness of her talk. ‘ Mere de Dieu ! ’ she would 
exclaim. ‘ Mother of what ? ’ asked I. 4 Didn’t I 
understand you to say there was no God?’ ‘ En- 
fant de grace , que tu es bete ! ’ she would some- 
times say, when I couldn’t understand her French. 
4 Child of what ? ’ asked I. 4 How can I be a child of 
grace, when, according to you, there is no God to 
give it to me ? ’ ” 

“ She is married now, I hear,” observed Belle 


GODLESS FEMININITY. 


133 


Templeton ; “ and if her husband is an atheist, as I 
presume he is, no doubt they are a congenial couple.” 

“ I am not so sure of that,” said Mollie. “There is 
an old infidel in our neighborhood who never puts 
his foot inside of a church, but, all the same, he rents 
a high-priced pew in one for his wife and children, who 
attend regularly. lie says he has no use for churches 
himself, but he thinks them a very good thing for 
women and children. When he hears that his Roman 
Catholic servant-girls have stopped going to confes- 
sion he immediately discharges them, for he says 
that when a woman gives up her religion he wouldn’t 
trust her any farther than he could throw an elephant, 
lie has had three wives from first to last, all of them 
good Methodists, and when an acquaintance of his 
once expressed surprise that such an ungodly old 
creature should be so fixed in the habit of marrying 
pious women, he replied that if he were to marry 
forty times he would be consigned to everlasting per- 
dition before he would take a wife who didn’t say 
her prayers and behave herself.” 

“ That reminds me,” said Sue Mansfield, “of Jerry 
Cruncher in A Tale of Two Cities. Jerry, in the first 
part of the story, when he lived in London, used to 
fling his boots at his praying wife, to make her get 
up from her knees, and when he had ill-luck in his 
trade of body-snatching would lay it all to his wife’s 
habit of ‘ flopping ; ’ but when he afterward went to 


134 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


Paris and made the acquaintance of the she-devils 
who took part in the Revolution his opinions under- 
went a complete change, and he vowed that should 
lie live to see home again ( never no more ’ would he 
interfere with his wife’s flopping. ‘ Indeed,’ said 
Jerry, when lie spoke of it, ‘I hope she may be flop- 
ping at this present moment.’ ” 


SUE MANSFIELD'S EXPERIENCE. 


135 


XXY. 

SUE MANSFIELD’S EXPEKIENCE. 

“The world is taken by the outside of tilings, and we must take 
the world as it is ; you or I cannot set it right.” — O ld Author. 

“Mollie, I wonder if your thoughts are worth a 
penny,” said Laura Lamar. “ You seem to be in a 
brown-study.” 

“I am thinking,” replied Mollie Archer, a of send- 
ing an olive-branch to mamma’s friend, Mrs. Young- 
blood.” 

“ An olive-branch ? Where will you get it ? ” asked 
Fanny Templeton. 

“That, my child, was what Artemus Ward would 
call i a figger of speech,’ ” returned Mollie. “ I meant 
I was thinking of writing her a friendly letter, though 
she took no notice of my last one, the one in which I 
declined her invitation to accompany her to Niagara 
last summer. She ought not to have been offended, 
but it seems she was, all the same.” 

“ Why did you decline ? ” asked Laura. 

“ Because it came only a few days before she was 
to start, and I had nothing in the world to wear.” 

“ Why, I’d have gone in fig-leaves before I’d have 
lost an opportunity to visit Niagara,” said Laura. 


136 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


“That shows, my dear, that you have always lived 
among people who know who and what you are,” ob- 
served S.ue Mansfield, sagely. “ Among strangers 
you have to be dressed up, or you wont pass muster.” 

“ I should pass muster with every one but people 
like the Dixons,” returned Laura, drawing herself up. 
“ Shouldn’t I, Mrs. Duval ? ” 

“No doubt you would,” replied that lady. “But 
why do you girls so often speak of the Dixon sisters 
as being common ? ” 

“ Because they have all the vulgar ways and preju- 
dices of what are known as 4 the common people,’ ” 
said Belle Templeton as Laura hesitated for a reply. 

“ And why are these vulgar people called ‘com- 
mon ’ ? ” 

“ Because there are so many of them, I suppose.” 

“ Just so. Which being the case, Laura, in travel- 
ing, must necessarily encounter at least nine persons 
wfith Amelia Dixon’s opinions and prejudices to one 
whom you would recognize as an aristocrat.” 

“ That she would ! ” exclaimed Sue. “ Out of 
every ten persons she met nine, or you may say nine 
and a half (counting children as fractions), would 
have Dixonian ways and ideas. I speak now from 
my own experience. When I went traveling with 
Aunt Flora last summer I wore a suit that I had had 
a year, and had lived in ever so much of that time ; 
but I was a fashion-plate compared with Aunt Flora, 


SUE MANSFIELD'S EXPERIENCE. 137 

who wore a bonnet that had come out of the ark, and 
a black gingham dress that might have been through 
the flood, it was so faded. Cousin Henry, Aunt Flora’s 
eldest son, who had just left college, was our escort, 
and he was all right in the matter of clothes, but he 
complained that lie could take no comfort in wearing 
any thing 4 nobby’ while his mother looked like Mrs. 
Hoali. Aunt Flora said her old clothes were like 
old friends, and she would rather be comfortable than 
stylish. She said that however Mrs. Shoddy might 
look down on her, all the ladies she met would, if she 
chose to talk to them, recognize her directly as one of 
themselves. She was right there ! All the real ladies 
we met in hotels or on steam-boats made friends with 
her immediately, for Aunt Flora can make herself 
extremely agreeable. When her husband was in Con- 
gress she went into the best society in Washington, 
and it is only since his death that she has buried her- 
self at home. Well, as I said, the ladies — that is, 
women of culture and refinement and good breeding 
(Belle’s ladies) — were as polite as pie to her, but, dear 
me! we met so many women of the shoddy family 
(Amelia Dixon’s ladies).” 

And how did they treat her ? ” asked Maggie. 

“ As Susan Hipper would say, ‘like a negress slave 
and a mulotter,’” replied Sue. “But Aunt Flora 
didn’t mind it. She regarded it as a good joke, and 
was quite delighted one day with having a situation 


138 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


offered her by a steam-boat acquaintance ; for, as she 
afterward told Cousin Henry, it showed she was 
worth something in herself, independently of her 
money. A lady (so-called) who was all flounces and 
frangipani and bad grammar took quite a fancy to 
her, and wished to engage her as 4 a companion, 5 tell- 
ing her patronizingly that she seemed to be a good, 
worthy woman, as well as a smart one. I was so 
furious I could scarcely hold my tongue, but Aunt 
Flora only asked meekly what her duties would be. 
4 O, nothing worth speaking of, 5 replied the lady. 4 1 
should expect you to do light housework and plain 
sewing — you’re no great hand, I take it, for dress- 
making — and if the cook should leave me all of a 
sudden I guess you wouldn’t mind taking her place 
for a day or two. 5 

44 4 Seamstress, housemaid, and cook, 5 said Aunt 
Flora, telling them off on her fingers. 4 What wages 
should I receive ? 5 

44 4 Well, 5 said the lady, ‘there would be a comforta- 
ble home for you, and of course I should pay you 
something besides. 5 

44 4 How much ? 5 persisted Aunt Flora. 

44 4 W ell, let us say about ten dollars a month. 5 

44 4 Hot enough, 5 replied Aunt Flora with decision. 
4 My companion receives more than that, and she is 
not asked to do any thing but play backgammon with 
me and listen to my old stories. 5 55 


SUE MANSFIELD'S EXPERIENCE 


139 


“ That was good ! 55 exclaimed Maggie. “ What did 
the fine lady say to that ? ” 

“ She didn’t say a word, but the look she gave that 
old gingham spoke volumes. The next lady of this 
kind that we encountered, when she learned that we 
were going to the Z Springs, remarked in our hear- 

ing that she supposed Aunt Flora had been engaged 
as housekeeper there, and I was going along to make 
myself useful in the linen-room. I told Cousin Henry 
of it in her hearing, whereupon he raised his voice 
and remarked that probably she supposed he was going 
along as bell-boy. He was more insulted still, poor 
fellow, when, a short time afterward, one of our trav- 
eling acquaintances, on hearing that we were going 
to the Victoria Hotel in New York, said to Aunt 
Flora, 6 O, I shouldn’t go to such an expensive place if 
I were you ! Why, if you did but know it, you can 
live in a great city like New York for next to nothing. 
For instance, there is Mrs. Strong’s Boarding-House 
for Working Ladies and Gents. That is an awful 
cheap place, and my cook, who boarded there for a 
month, says the rooms are passably clean and the fare 
not bad, considering the price. It would be just the 
place for you.’ ” 

“ What did your aunt say to that ? ” asked Laura. 

“Cousin Henry didn’t give her time to reply. He 
said, 6 You are exceedingly kind, madam, but I have 
made other arrangements. I am going to take mother 


140 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


to tlie Home for Aged and Indigent Christian Fe- 
males, and then 1 shall drop my cousin here at the Free 
Home for Destitute Young Girls ; I myself can get a 
lodging at one of the station-houses.’ 

“ ‘ You needn’t fire up so ; I didn’t mean to give 
offense,’ said the lady. 4 1 thought your ina looked 
like a good, respectable woman who had seen better 
days, and I was trying to do the best I could for her.’ 

“ ‘ It was really very kind of you,’ returned Aunt 
Flora. ‘I have seen better days, though, financially, 
I am not so badly off yet.’ 

“‘For pity’s sake, mother, go to the dress-maker’s 
to-morrow morning, if only to stop these people’s im- 
pertinence ! ’ said Cousin Henry that evening after 
we reached the hotel. 

“‘Yes, do,’ said I. ‘Then I sha’n’t have to ring so 
often before that biddy will condescend to make her 
appearance.’ 

“I think my argument had greater weight than 
Cousin Henry’s, for Aunt Flora requires an immense 
deal of waiting on. At any rafe, between us we car- 
ried our point, and the next day Aunt Flora went to 
the dress-maker’s.” 


VENEERING . 


141 


XXYI. 

VENEERING. 

“ 0, what a goodly outside falsehood hath ! ” — Shakespeare. 

44 Well, Sue,” said Mollie Archer, one evening, “I 
sliould not judge from your expression that you 
found that Punch very cheering.” 

Sue Mansfield looked up from an old number of the 
London Punch that she had brought down from the 
garret and replied, 44 I have come across a picture 
that lias set me to thinking. I suppose this Punch 
came out about the time that spirit-rappings began to 
be the fashion, for here is the picture of an old lady 
in a furniture-shop, and a table prancing around, ex- 
claiming, in reference to what the dealer has been 
saying , 4 Don’t believe him, madam ! I am not solid 
mahogany ; I am only veneered, and second-hand at 
that!’” 

“ And was it that that made you look so solemn ? ” 
asked Mollie. 

“Yes; I was thinking if we were all as candid as 
that table a good many of us would confess to being 
4 only veneered ’ — that is, nice only on the outside. 
There are so few persons who are polite through and 
through.” 


142 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


“ I am sure there is nothing put on, no veneering, 
as you call it, about me,” remarked Kate Drury. “ I 
always say just what I think.” 

“ Then you are a very singular person,” observed 
Mrs. Duval. 

“ I don’t always say what I think,” said Mollie, 
“and I rather think Kate doesn’t either.” 

“ Why, what do you mean ? ” exclaimed Kate, quite 
aghast at such an accusation. 

“Well, let me give you an instance. When you 
and I were reading Ivanhoe together in your room 
last Saturday afternoon, and were in the midst of the 
tournament, Ellen Gordon came in and interrupted 
us to ask your advice as to how her hat should be 
trimmed. Kow, I wished she was in Guinea, and I 
am sure you wished the same thing ; but instead of 
saying so you put down your book without even a 
scowl and talked hat to her until she was satisfied.” 

“ Of course,” said Kate, “ one cannot talk and act 
like a Zulu ; but I didn’t say I was glad to see her, as 
some girls would have done, no matter whether they 
were glad or sorry.” 

“ You are more truthful, then,” sighed Maggie 
Yates, “ than some people mamma and I called on last 
Saturday. With them it was, ‘ O, Mrs. Yates, how 
delighted I am to see you ! It has been such an age 
since you were here last. And how tall Maggie has 
grown ! She will soon be as dignified in appearance 


VENEERING. 


143 


as her mother. Did you get her hat at Madame 
B — ’s ? I thought so ; Madame B — has such taste 
in millinery ! ’ That was the way they went on all 
the time we were there.” 

“ And how did you know they were telling stories ?” 
asked Sue. 

“ Well, after we left the house I found I had for- 
gotten my veil, so I went back for it, and, as the hall 
door was wide open, I went in without knocking. 
My veil was on the floor in the hall, where I had 
dropped it, and as I stood before the hat-rack mir- 
ror, pinning it on, the parlor door being ajar, I heard 
the people talking about us. Then it was: ‘Mrs. 
Yates doesn’t stand on ceremony ; she has been here 
at least three times since we called on her last. What 
a May-pole that daughter of hers is ! the same size 
from her shoulders down to her ankles ! The idea of 
putting such an expensive hat on a school-girl ! I 
know Mr. Yates’s salary doesn’t warrant it.’ ‘ Mamma,’ 
said I, when I joined her at the carriage, ‘ I am never 
going into that house again.’ And then I told her 
what I had heard. I know she was offended, but she 
only laughed, and said I must learn to take such 
things quietly. I suppose I shall become case-hard- 
ened in time, like mamma, and visit the families of 
men whose influence has placed papa in office, no 
matter whether they are nice or not nice ; but I 
haven’t fortitude enough for it now.” 


144 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


“That reminds me,” said Sue, “of the boy in 
Thinles 1 to Myself \ He used to feel dreadfully 
sorry for the visitors whom his father and mother 
treated politely when they came to call, and ridiculed 
or disparaged as soon as they went away ; the matter 
so weighed upon his spirits that one day he concealed 
himself by the roadside and so contrived to overhear 
what some callers said of his father and mother, out 
of their hearing, and then he felt easy again, reflect- 
ing that turn about is fair play.” 

“ But mamma doesn’t ridicule or disparage people ! ” 
exclaimed Maggie, with some indignation; “and she 
never says their daughters are May-poles ! ” 

“ Then there isn’t fair play in your case,” said Mol- 
lie ; “but Pauline Legare could hold her own with 
those people you called on. She might be exhibited 
in a dime museum as a two-faced girl. It seemed to 
me she used to take particular pains to single out 
for fondling and kissing the very persons she used to 
backbite the oftenest.” 

“Pauline’s palaver couldn’t impose on any one with 
two grains of sense,” observed Kate Drury. “ There 
was something so transparent about her deceit. When 
she would say to me, ‘ Ma chbre amie , not one kiss 
have I had from you to-day,’ I w T ould say in reply, 
‘Well, Pauline, what is it you want now — my help 
in working examples, or the loan of twenty-five 
cents ? ’ ” 


VENEERING. 


145 


“ I’d ch&re arriie lier if she ever came around me 
in tliat style,” said Sue. “ She asked me one day to 
lend her my parasol, and I replied, 6 Certainly, you are 
welcome to it. I overheard you this morning, in Mr. 
Berger’s class, call me une sotte, but I don’t bear 
malice.’ Of course she then vowed she never dreamed 
of saying such a thing, but I preferred to believe my 
ears, though I didn’t tell her so.” 

“ I have not forgotten Miss Legare’s arts and wiles,” 
remarked Miss Bond, with a slight smile. “ As I had 
more than once overheard her speaking of me in a con- 
temptuous tone as la vielle file , I was rather startled 
one day (when I went into her room to deliver a 
message) at the effusion with which she greeted me, 
expressing so much pleasure at my having deigned to 
visit her, and pressing me to remain and let her have 
a nice long talk with some one who had ideas of her 
own ; but unfortunately, for the effect of her politesse, 
she was so silly as to turn and make a grimace at one 
of her room-mates, not observing that, from where I 
stood, I could see her in the looking-glass. I simply 
remarked, ‘You have forgotten the looking-glass, 
Miss Legare,’ and then left the room to let her room- 
mates have their laugh out at her being so nicely 
caught.” 

“ I doubt,” said Mrs. Duval, “ if some of my pupils 
quite discriminate between courtesy and dissimulation. 

The mere fact of speaking politely to objectionable 
10 


146 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


persons, instead of snubbing and scowling at them, 
shows nothing more than a desirable degree of civili- 
zation ; while dissimulation, or ‘putting on,’ as Kate 
calls it, is a species of veneering which even she can- 
not too forcibly denounce. Unless there is an abso- 
lute necessity for telling a disagreeable truth it is al- 
ways best to leave it untold, but it is never best to tell 
or even act a falsehood.” 


AT TABLE. 


147 


XXYII. 

AT TABLE. 

“ Upon my word of honor, 

As I went ’round the corner 
I saw a pig without a wig, 

Upon my word of honor! ” — Anonymous. 

“I wonder what I have done,” exclaimed Sue 
Mansfield, discontentedly (it was one of her cross days), 
“that Mrs. Duval should punish me by putting those 
everlasting Dixons at my table ! ” 

“ What harm do they do you ? ” asked Maggie 
Yates. 

“ They take away my appetite,” replied Sue. “ It 
makes me sick to have people opposite me who sit 
about two yards away from the table and stoop like, 
dear knows what, to get at their plates.” 

“ I should rather sit opposite Amelia than by her,” 
observed Mollie Archer. “ She begins business at 
table by driving her elbows into my side, and there I 
am, like a butterfly stuck on a pin, all the while she 
is eating.” 

“ And then they grab so ! ” complained Ellen Gor- 
don. “ At breakfast they hardly wait for Dr. Duval 
to finish saying grace before they fly at the buttered 


148 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


toast, never thinking of waiting till they have their 
plates to put it on.” 

“ What do they do with it \ ” asked Maggie. 

“ Hold it in their hands or balance it on their gob- 
lets. They seem to be afraid it wont go round, and 
so they make sure of their slices, sometimes having to 
dig for the largest ones. At dinner it is the same 
with ears of corn. If their plates haven’t come by 
the time they have gnawed these down to the cob — 
and sometimes even if they have come — the cobs are 
put back on the dish along with the untouched ears.” 

“ Ugh ! ” exclaimed Belle Templeton. “ Why 
doesn’t Mrs. Duval let them eat out of the trough 
with Dr. Duval’s Essex pigs ? They would feel much 
more at home in a pig-pen than in a dining-room with 
civilized people.” 

“ They are more fastidious than you might imagine,” 
said Mollie. “ Jennie does not like onions, and this 
morning, when her steak was brought her, she act- 
ually held it up to her nose and smelt it, to make 
sure there were no onions in the gravy.” 

“ Disgusting ! ” ejaculated Belle. 

“Yes,” responded Mollie; “I was so disgusted 
that I looked around for a good place to faint in, but, 
fearing I might fall against Amelia’s elbow, I con- 
cluded to put it off a while.” 

“What makes me nervous,” said Sue, “is to see 
Amelia peppering her soup, holding the box in one 


AT TABLE. 


149 


hand and beating the bottom of it so vigorously with 
the other that I am always afraid the top will drop 
into the soup.’ , * 

“And both she and Jennie take their soup with 
such long floops,” observed Ellen Gordon. 

“ I notice,” said Mollie, “ that Amelia is more fas- 
tidious in the matter of bread than Jennie is. Jennie 
helps herself to two, and sometimes three, slices of 
bread at once, going for quantity, and not quality ; 
but Amelia will take one slice, and, if she does not 
like the looks or the feel of it, will fling it back on 
the plate and take another.” 

“I was guilty of that once in my life, and once 
only,” observed Belle. “ It was impressed upon my 
memory because the only dinner I had that day was 
the slice of bread I had flung back and a glass of 
water. Mamma used to say that if girls were not 
taught table manners at home they were not likely 
to learn them anywhere.” 

“Then I suppose Amelia Dixon’s case is hopeless,” 
said Mollie, “ for when she reached across me at table 
the other day, and snatched the largest apple on the 
plate, she remarked that her ‘par’ used to say that 
he had always took care of number one, and he could 
see that his children were just like him. I should 
have handed her the apples and saved her from mak- 
ing such a stretch if she had only waited till apple- 
time came, but that she had no intention of doing.” 


150 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


“ She oughtn’t to expect us to hand her any tiling,” 
observed Sue, “ as she never hands any thing herself 
without being asked twice. I never in my life saw 
any thing more suggestive of pigs with their fore 
feet in the trough than the Dixons at table. I 
have been perishing with thirst, and those girls have 
coolly filled their own goblets, and set the pitcher 
down out of my reach, without once looking across 
at me.” 

“ When they wont help me without being asked I 
ask them in French,” said Mollie, “ and then express 
surprise at their not understanding me. This pro- 
vokes them, because they claim to be first-class French 
scholars ; at any rate, they insisted upon being put in 
the first class when they came here, informing Mrs. 
Duval that French was spoken altogether at the last 
school they attended.” 

“ May be it is only your French they don’t under- 
stand,” said Ellen Gordon. 

“No; they don’t understand Mr. Berger’s French 
either. lie says they are dool — vara dool pupils.” 

“You are criticising your neighbors, as usual, I 
suppose,” observed Mrs. Duval, whose entrance at 
this point of the conversation had been followed by a 
sudden silence. “ Don’t let me interrupt you, I 
beg.” 

“ I was only repeating Mr. Berger’s criticism,” 
said Mollie. “ He says the Dixon girls — I mean the 


AT TABLE. 


151 


Misses Dixon — are 6 vara dool,’ but I, on the contrary, 
think them very sharp — at meal-times, that is.” 

“I hope the knives they eat with are not very 
sharp,” remarked Sue ; “ otherwise they are in 
danger of cutting their mouths.” 

“ Don’t you remember the text about motes and 
beams?” asked Mrs. Duval. 

“ I don’t care a straw about motes in other people’s 
eyes,” replied Sue ; “ but when I have to sit opposite 
them at table I do care about knives in their mouths 
and plates at the ends of their noses.” 

“ And it makes me envious,” said Mollie, “ to see 
Jennie’s tea cooling itself so nicely in her saucer 
while mine is keeping hot in my cup.” 

“ I haven’t the least doubt of the truthfulness of 
that assertion,” returned Mrs. Duval. “It is nature 
cropping out, in spite of all that has been done by 
your mother and other teachers in the attempt to 
civilize you. If you and Ellen and Sue had not had 
precept upon precept, from your babyhood up, to say 
nothing of the example of those around you, you 
would behave precisely like the girls you are criticis- 
ing. It must be natural to eat with one’s knife, or 
we should not find the habit so general among those 
who have not been taught that it is vulgar. It is a 
natural instinct to think of one’s self first (and gen- 
erally last), not only at table, but every-where else. 
When you three girls see school-mates who have not 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


1 & 

had your advantages act at the table as you would 
not act, instead of ridiculing and condemning them, 
as you are so much disposed to do, it would be well 
to remember that there, but for the unwearied care 
and patience of others, sat Mollie Archer, Sue Mans- 
field, and Ellen Gordon.” 


ON THE STREET. CAR. 


153 


XXVIII. 

ON THE STREET-CAR. 

“ Good or bad company is the greatest blessing or greatest plague 
of life.” — L’Estrange. 

“ Sue, you were late in getting back from X 

this afternoon,” observed Mollie Archer, as the two 
girls entered the back parlor together. “ I saw you 
coming up from the side gate just as the bell was 
ringing for tea.” 

“ And you were alone, too,” said Maggie Yates. “ I 
am surprised that Mrs. Duval should allow it. You 
might have been robbed and murdered in the woods.” 

“I couldn’t have been robbed,” returned Sue, “as 

I spent all my money in X , and my purchases 

were sent home by express.” 

“ But, anyway, you might have been murdered,” 
persisted Maggie. “ It was strange that Mrs. Duval 
should not have been afraid of it.” 

“She doesn’t object to my being murdered,” re- 
plied Sue. “If she did she wouldn’t have sent me 
to X with Amelia Dixon.” 

“You went with Amelia, then?” said Maggie. 
“Why didn’t you come back with her? She was 
here long before you.” 


154 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


“ Yes ; she encountered a friend in X , wlio 

brought her back in a carriage, much to my joy, as 
I had had enough of Amelia for one day.” 

“ What did she do ? ” asked Maggie. 

“ She nudged me,” was the reply. “ My left arm 
is black and blue from shoulder to elbow. I am sure 
of it, because it feels so bruised and sore. I tell you, 
that elbow of Amelia’s is something fearful ! ” 

“ Why didn’t you retreat to the other side of the 
road ? ” asked Moliie. 

“ O, it wasn’t while we were walking ; then she 
behaved very well, except that she was so foolish in 
her talk, complaining of being tired before we were 
fairly outside of the gate, and saying she was not ac- 
customed to walking because at home she ordered 
the carriage if she were only going half a dozen 
blocks. One would imagine from such talk that 
she took me for a gibbering idiot. But I didn’t mind 
her fibs so much as I did her nudging after we 
reached the depot and took the street-car. You 
needn’t look so shocked, Miss Bond. What I mean 
is, nudging hurts a body’s arms so much more, 
though, of course, it isn’t so wicked. And then, 
besides the pain I suffered, there was the mortifica- 
tion of knowing that the other passengers, seeing the 
way in which she went on, thought me as ill-bred as 
herself.” 

“ Of course they did,” was Kate Drury’s comforting 


ON THE STREET- CAR. 


155 


assurance. “ The nudgee is always put into the same 
boat with the nudger on such occasions.” 

“ Yes,” added Belle Templeton; “and it served 

you right for going with her to X . Mrs. Duval • 

would not have insisted upon your going if you had 
asked to be excused.” 

“ But I wished to buy a hat to wear to chapel to- 
morrow,” said Sue. “ My old one is too shabby for 
any thing.” 

“You vain creature!” exclaimed Mollie. “Will- 
ing to undergo such torture for the sake of a new 
hat ! ” 

“ But why did she nudge you ? ” demanded Fanny 
Templeton. 

“ Ask her,” returned Sue. “ I can only tell you 
when she nudged me. The first time was just after 
we had seated ourselves in the car, and she caught 
sight of an old woman at the other end with a red 
face and a bonnet trimmed with great red poppies. 
The next time was when a tipsy man entered the 
car and nearly fell into my lap in passing. She kept 
her eye on him and gave me about a dozen pokes with 
that elbow of hers before he finally settled himself. 
Then a lady came in with an ink-spot on her cheek, 
and of course I had to suffer for it, though I couldn’t 
see why my poor arm should be made blue because a 
stranger’s cheek happened to be black. Then a lov- 
ing couple came in and that elbow attacked me again, 


156 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


•and kept on poking me whenever any tiling at- 
tracted Amelia’s attention. I was so out of patience 
at length that I was about to ask in very distinct 
tones what she meant by it, when a poor woman came 
in with a baby in her arms, and as the car was full 
and none of the men seem disposed to move I got up 
and gave her my place. 6 Why, what do you mean, 
Susan Mansfield ? ’ asked Amelia. ‘We aint within 
a mile of Main Street yet.’ ‘ No,’ replied I, ‘ but I 
intend to stand a while.’ ‘ You big silly,’ said she, 
‘ to be giving up your seat after you have paid for it. 
I suppose you will be paying that woman’s fare next.’ 
At this the poor woman began to fidget and look 
uncomfortable, so I turned my back on Amelia and 
marched off to the other end of the car, where a man 
had the grace to get up and give me a seat. I thought 
I should be let alone after this, as I was now out of 
the reach of that elbow ; but Amelia had no intention 
of letting me alone ; and so for the next mile she was 
continually calling out, ‘ Susan Mansfield, this,’ 
and ‘ Susan Mansfield, that,’ till I was sick of my own 
name.” 

“ How rude to call names in public places! ” observed 
Belle Templeton. “It always attracts attention.” 

“That is just what Amelia likes always to be 
doing,” returned Sue. “ She is never satisfied unless 
she is creating a commotion of some kind. You 
may be sure I was rejoiced when we reached Main 


ON THE STREET- CAR. 


157 


Street, though even then my troubles were not over. 
Amelia decided she would get out there, instead of 
going directly to the hotel where her friend was staying. 
The conductor did not see my signal in time to stop 
the car at the corner, and when we reached the plat- 
form Amelia began to scold him for taking us half- 
way down the block. The platform was crowded 
with men, and while she was speaking one of them 
puffed cigar-smoke in her face. This insulted her, 
and she asked the conductor if he were not going to 
put ‘that fellow’ off the car. ‘No, ma’am,’ replied 
the conductor; ‘but the sooner you get off the 
sooner you’ll be rid of him and his smoke. I can’t 
stop here all day waiting for you to make up your 
mind.’ ‘You impertinent rascal, I’ll take your num- 
ber! ’ said she. ‘ You can take my number, and me 
too,’ replied the conductor. ‘I am not a married 
man.’ At that all the men laughed, and Amelia 
stepped off the platform — I was already off — vowing 
she would report that conductor and do all sorts of 
dreadful things. But she didn’t get any sympathy 
from me, for I told her plainly, then and there, that 
if she had held her tongue she would not have been 
treated so disrespectfully.” 

“Yes,” said Mollie ; “I have always noticed that 
the girls who complain most of being insulted in 
public places are the very sort who behave in such a 
way as almost to invite men to insult them.” 


158 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


XXIX. 

AT A RESTAURANT. 

“ Remember this, where’er you are, the French are so polite, 

No matter what you eat or drink, whatever is is right ; 

And if you’re told at dinner-time that some delicious stow 
Is cat instead of rabbit, you must answer, ‘ Tant mi-eux ! ’ ” 

— Hood. 

“ I am as hungry as a wolf,” remarked Mollie 
Archer. “ I wish the tea-bell would ring.” 

“ Hungry after getting your dinner at Smith’s 
dining-rooms?” demanded Maggie Yates. “I am 
sure I shouldn’t be. Mamma and I always eat there 

when we go to X , and mamma prefers Smith’s to 

Yanosti’s. She says the fare is quite as good, al- 
though there isn’t so much style about the establish- 
ment.” 

“ I have nothing to say against the fare,” returned 
Mollie. “ It may have been good, or it may have 
been bad. But I made up my mind to-day that better 
is a dinner of herbs, taken in peace, than a stalled ox 
and the Dixons therewith.” 

4 ‘Ah, sure enough ! ” said Maggie. “ You and those 

girls went together to X to-day. They wore 

their new hats. Did they go with you to the dress- 
maker’s ? ” 


AT A RESTAURANT 


159 


“No,” replied Mollie; “I am happy to say that 
when Dr. Duval’s carriage put us down at the depot 
they took one street-car and I another. I thought I 
was rid of them for the day, but not long after I had 
seated myself at Smith’s here they came sailing in, 
accompanied by an individual whom they called 
‘ Frank,’ and whom Amelia was talking to at the top 
of her voice. I hoped they would fail to recognize my 
back, and would go to the farther end of the dining- 
room, but no such luck ! They came to a stand-still 
at my table, greeted me with, ‘ Hello, Mollie Archer ! 
Are you here?’ and then prepared to settle them- 
selves, though as there were only two unoccupied 
places there was no room for ‘Frank.’ ‘ Hold on a 
minute, Frank,’ said Amelia. ‘ She’ (‘ she ’ meaning 
a stranger who was sitting opposite me) 4 will be going 
directly; she is eating her pudding.’ But ‘Frank’ 
wouldn’t stay. I think he, like myself, is a little par- 
ticular as to whom he eats with. Before going, how- 
ever, lie tore off the corner of the bill of fare, rolled 
it into a pellet, and shot it into Jennie’s face as a part- 
ing attention. He had hardly passed on when ‘she ’ 
went away without finishing her pudding, giving me 
a look as she left the table as much as to say, ‘ What 
do you mean by being in such company?’ I had 
been making myself useful in giving her the mustard 
and other things that were out of her reach, and she 
had seemed to be favorably impressed, but the com- 


160 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


ing of the Dixons had spoiled it all. This bothered 
me so that as soon as she was gone I drew myself 
up and in real Miss Bond style said to Amelia, ‘I 
presume that gentleman is a relative of yours.’ ” 
‘“Good heavens, no,’ she replied. ‘We got ac- 
quainted with him at Fox & Kennard’s this morn- 
ing, when we were buying our trimming. He 
belongs to the velvet counter, and we were so long 
in matching our samples that it was lunch-time be- 
fore we got through ; we asked him where would be 
a good place to eat, and he said he would show us 
the way here, as he was coming out to get his own 
dinner.’ 

“ ‘ I judged, from your calling him Frank,’ said 
I, ‘ that he was your brother, or cousin, or something.’ 

“ ‘ I guess if he was our brother he would be more 
nobby in his get-up,’ returned Amelia. ‘Frank was 
what the floor- walker called him, and that’s the only 
name we know him by. You must be mashed , from 
the way you are quizzing us about him ? ’ ” 

“ Miss Dixon always says quiz for question,” re- 
marked Bertha Holt. “ She doesn’t seem to know 
that the word has an entirely different meaning.” 

“That’s nothing,” said Sue Mansfield. “Amelia 
never uses a right word when there is a wrong one 
handy ; but go on, Mollie, with your story.” 

“ I looked at her with silent scorn,” continued 
Mollie, “and then the waiter came to take their 


AT A RESTAURANT. 


161 


orders. After much hesitation Amelia guessed she 
would take roast beef, and Jennie guessed she would 
take chicken-pie, though, as both of these dishes were 
down on the bill of fare, I didn’t see how there could 
be any guess-work about the matter. The waiter had 
brought their orders, and then you ought to have 
heard them finding fault with this and that, eating all 
the while like two plowmen ! ” 

“ That is always tlie way with persons of that class,” 
observed Belle Templeton. “ They would not con- 
sider themselves genteel if they did not find fault 
with the fare in public places.” 

“ The waiter gave us checks with our meat orders,” 
Mollie went on, “ and though we all three afterward 
called for pastry he went away, neglecting to change 
them. 

“ ‘ Come, let’s go,’ said Amelia, seizing her check 
as she was swallowing her last mouthful of pie, at 
the same time winking at Jennie. ‘ Aint you ready, 
Mollie Archer ? ’ 

“‘No,’ replied I; ‘I must wait till I can catch 
that waiter’s eye and get my check changed.’ 

‘“Come, Jennie,’ said Amelia; and the two fairly 
ran to the desk to get off from paying for their pie.” 

“So it seems the Dixons do not always pay their 
way as they go,” remarked Belle. 

“ I couldn’t help being glad,” said Mollie, “ that 

the people around us could see from that that I did 

11 


162 


EVENINGS AT SCUOOL. 


not belong to them. Those at the next table noticed 
the proceeding, and a gentleman remarked to the 
lady beside him that he supposed those girls came 
from Fox & Kennard’s establishment across the street, 
as their style was decidedly 4 of the shop, shoppy. 5 

44 4 Too expensively gotten up for that, 5 returned 
the lady. 4 Each one of those girls had at least 
twenty-live dollars 5 worth of feathers on her liat. 5 

“ 4 And yet, between them, 5 said the gentleman, 
4 they cheated Smith out of twenty cents — and were 
proud of it. 5 

44 4 Sli-sh ! 5 exclaimed the lady. 

44 4 You needn’t be sh-sli-ing on my account, 5 
thought I. 4 1 happened to be the companion of 
thieves to-day, but when one is at a boarding-school, 
no matter how select it may be, the Spanish proverb 
does not always hold true : 44 Tell me whom you live 
with, and I will tell you who }mu are. 55 5 55 


AT CHURCH ; 


163 


XXX. 

AT CHURCH. 

“ Here some are thinkin’ on their sins, 

And some upo’ their claes. — B urns.” 

“ Dora and I might as well have worn the same 
old alpacas that we wear every Sunday in chapel,” 
complained Ellen Gordon one Sunday evening. “We 
were sent up into the gallery to sit with any body and 
every body.” 

“ I was glad to get a seat anywhere,” observed Sue 
Mansfield. “ I have heard it said that when a stran- 
ger in Xew York city inquires on Sunday the way to 
Plymouth Church he is directed to cross Fulton 
ferry and then follow the crowd. I think a stranger 

in X , inquiring to-day the way to St. Paul’s, 

might have been told to leave the car at Poplar 
Street and then follow the crowd. It is a satisfac- 
tion to be able to say now that I have heard such a 

celebrated evangelist as Dr. M ; but, for an every- 

Sunday arrangement, give me the school chapel and 
a theologue who is unknown to fame. I like elbow- 
room.” 

“ There was plenty of elbow-room in the chapel to- 
day,” observed Belle Templeton. “ Fanny and I had 


164 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


one bench all to ourselves. At least twenty of the 

girls must have gone to X , to hear Dr. M. . 

Mr. Richards and Miss Bond had as much as they 
could attend to in keeping you all in order.” 

“ They washed their hands of us when we reached 
the church,” said Mollie Archer. “ It was impossible 
to seat us all together, so we were scattered around 
promiscuously.” 

“ It will be the last time I shall ever put my foot 
in that church ! ” exclaimed Amelia Dixon. “ Jennie 
and I were treated shamefully — fairly ordered out of 
a pew by a woman who thought we were not good 
enough for her because we hadn’t such big diamonds 
in our ears as she was wearing. I believe they were 
nothing in the world but paste. Come, Jennie, let’s 
us go up-stairs and get our boots off. Mine hurt 
awfully after the long tramp I took in them to- 
day. If I’m forgiven for it I’ll never take another. 
Thank heaven, when we go to church at home we 
can go in a carriage ! ” 

“ Those are elegant dresses that Amelia and Jennie 
are wearing to-day,” observed Dora Gordon, after the 
two sisters had left the room. “ I am surprised that 
such fashionable-looking girls should have been or- 
dered out of any one’s pew, no matter how big the 
owner’s diamonds may have been.” 

“ Bosh ! ” exclaimed Mollie. “ I sat in the pew di- 
rectly behind those girls, and saw the whole rumpus 


AT CHURCH. 


165 


— the whole affair, I mean. I was surprised at the 
lady’s bearing with them so long as she did.” 

“How did they behave?” asked Maggie Yates. 
“Were they any more fidgety than they are in 
chapel ? ” 

“Yes,” replied Mollie. “In chapel they know 
that Mrs. Duval’s eye is upon them, or would be if 
they went to fidgeting too much, and so they keep 
comparatively quiet ; but in church this morning they 
just let themselves loose. At first they were turning 
around constantly to stare at the people coming in. 
1 thought of the old preacher (in the newspaper) who 
was so out of patience with some of his congregation 
for such behavior that he finally called out, 6 Sit 
still, brethren ! I’ll keep my eye on the door, and if 
any thing more dangerous than a man comes in I’ll 
give you warning.’ After the services had com- 
menced they (Jennie and Amelia, I mean) left off 
looking around, but they did not mend their man- 
ners, for they kept up a continual whispering during 
the prayers and a giggling during the singing.” 

“ Horrid ! ” exclaimed Belle. 

“ And, horrider still, it was not long before they be- 
gan flirting continued Mollie. “ There were some 
young fellows sitting in a pew to the right (freshmen, 
I think they must have been, as they seemed so very 
young and silly), and they looked at the Dixons, and 
the Dixons smirked back at them, and finally what 


166 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


did Amelia do but tear a leaf out of a handsomely 
bound liymn-book that was in the pew, scribble some- 
thing on it and toss it to them, fairly sniggering as 
she did so, and glancing around at the diamonded 
lady, to see what she thought of the matter. The 
lady stared straight before her, but you may be sure 
she knew what was going on, for when the return 
note was tossed in, and Amelia and Jennie banged 
their heads together in a scramble to pick it up from 
the floor, where it had fallen, she beckoned to the 
usher, had a whispered confab with him, and the two 
girls were forthwith invited out of that pew and con- 
ducted to another.” 

“ I am surprised there w T as room for them anywhere 
else,” observed Dora. 

“The usher — I think he had had directions from 
the lady — made room for them by asking two other 
persons to give up their seats, and these persons were 
brought to the pew the girls had left. They were a 
common-looking couple — the man had dirty finger- 
nails, and the woman had all the colors of the rain- 
bow on her hat — but the lady was as polite as possible 
to them, giving them hymn-books and offering the 
woman her jeweled fan. Common as they were, 
though, the new-comers kept quiet and behaved them- 
selves, and I think every body around rejoiced at the 
change, except, may be, the freshmen, and even they, 
if they had decent mothers and sisters, must have felt 


AT CHURCH. 


167 


a thorough contempt for Amelia and Jennie, even 
while they encouraged them to misbehave.” 

“ Mollie,” said Mrs. Duval (who had come in in 
time to hear these last words), “ you remind me of 
Miss Murdstone in David Copperfield — Miss Murd- 
stone who used to stare around the church with her 
great black eyes, and when she said ‘ miserable sin- 
ners, 5 seemed to be calling the congregation names.” 

“Well,” returned Mollie, “to show you I am not 
quite so conceited as Miss Murdstone, I’ll confess that 
my own thoughts wandered several times during the 
sermon, and when the collection-plate came round, 
and the lady in front of me put a bill on it, I 
grew envious, and was ashamed of my poor little 
quarter. But all the while I sat still and was good 
on the outside ; and that is something.” 




168 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


XXXI. 

MISS PARTICULAR. 

“I do confess that if there be one character that rouses my usually 
bland temper into combativeness it is the character of the putter 
down upon principle.” — Household Words. 

“ I have never, since I came to St. Mary’s, had 
any but the highest marks in arithmetic and algebra, 
and they are only my due; as I inherit papa’s talent 
for mathematics.” 

The speaker was Ruth Wayland, better known in 
school as “ Miss Particular.” In Mrs. Southgate’s 
recitation-room her performance at the blackboard 
elicited praise from every one ; anywhere else Mollie 
Archer pronounced her to be an everlasting nuisance, 
and the rest of us were of the same opinion. As 
Miss Wayland’s remark was incontrovertible there 
was no reply made to it, and when the silence was 
next broken it was by Sue Mansfield, speaking on 
quite a different subject. 

“ I had such trouble in getting the girls together 
this morning,” said she, “ that there was no satisfac- 
tion in being monitress. Miss Bond came to the 
monitress hall about half past seven — ” 

“ It was a quarter of eight,” interrupted Miss Par- 


MISS PARTICULAR . 


169 


ticular. “ If you remember, I was there, setting my 
watch by the clock.” 

“ Well, a quarter of eight, then ; and she said I was 
to go around to the rooms and tell the girls to have 
on their hats and shawls — ” 

“ Sacques, she said,” interrupted Miss Particular. 
“You know she doesn’t approve of our wearing 
shawls when we go out to walk with her.” 

“ Well, sacques, then, or whatever you like — and to 
be at the front door when — ” 

“ In the front hall, she said,” was the next inter- 
ruption. 

“Tell it yourself, then, Miss Particular!” ex- 
claimed Sue, her patience now completely exhausted. 
“And, girls, I beg of you that, if any of you ever 
hear me attempt to tell any tiling again when Ruth 
Wayland is present, you will remind me that it is of 
no use to try.” 

“You needn’t fly into a rage about it,” returned 
Miss Particular. “ I only corrected you when you 
went wrong. Papa says I should always be extremely 
accurate in my statements.” 

“But did he say you must be accurate in other 
people’s statements ? ” demanded Mollie Archer. 

Miss Particular deigned to make no reply to this, 
and we supposed she was silenced for the evening; 
but we were mistaken. Before long Mollie began to 
tell of an occurrence she had witnessed that afternoon. 


170 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


“We were on the back piazza, Ruth and I, study- 
ing our history,” said she, “ when, looking up from 
my book, I saw Dr. Duval in the flower-garden just 
this side of the honeysuckle arbor — ” 

“ He was standing near the flowering-almond when 
I saw him,” interrupted Miss Particular. 

“ Then we will say he was standing just three feet 
six inches and a half from the flowering-almond — any 
thing to please you ! What was I going to say ? O, 
yes ! as he stood there looking at the jonquils — ” 

“I don’t think he was looking at the jonquils; he 
seemed to be reading a letter,” said Miss Particular. 

“ Well, as he was reading this letter — or may be it 
was a note ! — one should be very accurate about such 
matters — as he stood there reading this letter, or this 
note, who should come up to the hedge from the out- 
side but a gentleman of leisure, who — ” 

“ Gentleman, indeed ! ” exclaimed Miss Particular. 
“ lie was a dirty, ragged tramp.” 

“Don’t contradict me, my dear. Haven’t you 
heard that in this country the only gentlemen of 
leisure are the tramps ? I am ashamed of your igno- 
rance! Well, this particular gentleman of leisure 
came up to the hedge, and, taking off his hat — ” 

“ lie was wearing a cap,” said Miss Particular. 

“ Give it up ! Give it up, Mollie ! ” exclaimed Sue. 
“ Davies and Robinson and the rest of the algebra- 
makers might be able to tell a story in Ruth’s hearing 


MISS PARTICULAR. 


171 


without being contradicted at every other word, but 
you needn’t try. You are too outrageous a liar.” 

“Wlia-at?” exclaimed Mrs. Duval, who came in 
at this moment. 

“Ask Ruth Wayland, there, if she isn’t,” returned 
Sue. “ Ruth has contradicted her a dozen times in 
the last three minutes.” 

“Not more than three or four times,” said Ruth, 
sullenly. 

“ So you’re another,” remarked Mollie to Sue. “ I 
dare say Ruth wonders why we two are not struck 
down like Ananias and Sapphira.” 

“ O, according to Ruth, all girls are liars,” replied 
Sue. “ I don’t believe there is a girl in this house 
who could say six words in her hearing without 
being contradicted. I know if I were only to remark 
that the cow is a very useful animal she would be 
sure to say, 4 Now, she isn’t so useful as you might 
suppose.’ ” 

“ And if I,” rejoined Mollie, “ were to say, ‘ Black 
is black,’ she would come back at me with, ‘ No, you 
are not quite correct there, it’s a little whitish.’ ” 

“ IIow can you girls talk so foolishly ? ” asked 
Mrs. Duval. 

“Well, may be I did exaggerate a little in that last 
assertion,” returned Mollie ; “ but I am very sure if I 
were to say that any thing happened at half past live 
Ruth would immediately put in, ‘No, I was standing 


172 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


before the clock at the time, and it was twenty-nine 
minutes and a half of six.’ ” 

“ I like accuracy,” observed Miss Particular, “ and 
so does my papa.” 

“ And so do you like pickles,” returned Mrs. Duval, 
“ and so, possibly, does your papa, but neither of you 
would think of forcing them on those who do not. 
At the blackboard extreme accuracy is a very desir- 
able gift, but when it takes the form of petty, teasing 
contradiction of the trivial misstatements of others it 
is exceeding silly and ill-bred.” 


A GENTLEWOMAN. 


173 


XXXII. 

A GENTLEWOMAN. 

“ Here comes the lady.” — S hakespeare. 

“ Are you sitting in tlie dark, young ladies ? ” asked 
Mbs Bond as slie entered tlie back parlor, where a 
number of us were assembled. 

“ Miss Bond, for pity’s sake say ‘ girls ! ’ ” exclaimed 
Sue Mansfield. “ This very afternoon I heard Mar- 
tha speak of Bachel and herself as ‘ young ladies,’ 
and since nurses and housemaids have become young 
ladies I prefer to be something else.” 

“ Yes,” observed Belle Templeton ; “ ladies take 
in washing, and go out scrubbing nowadays, to say 
nothing of attending to looms and standing behind 
counters.” 

“ I think,” said Mrs. Duval, who had come in di- 
rectly after Miss Bond, “ that it is quite time for the 
old word ‘gentlewoman ’ to be revived, to distinguish 
women who are gentle and refined from those who 
are rough and loud. I was astonished to hear such 
noisy laughing and talking in Room 27 this after- 
noon.” 

“It wasn’t me — I mean it wasn’t I,” said Sue. 
“ Some girls — I wont call names — came in to look at 


174 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


\ 

my new hat, and found it so uncommonly ridiculous 
that they fairly whooped and yelled over it.” 

“Dr. Duval heard the noise,” said Miss Bond. 
“He was speaking to me at the time, and he re- 
marked that if it were Rachel and Martha they 
must receive immediate warning.” 

“Well, I can’t ‘prove an alibi,’ a la old Weller,” 
observed Mollie Archer, “ because I was in my room 
as usual ; but from the time school was over until the 
tea-bell rang I did not speak a word or laugh a laugh. 
I was reading Love Me Little , Love Me Long” 

“ Worse and worse,” remarked Laura Lamar. “ ’Tis 
better to laugh than to be reading a novel. Don’t 
you think so, Mrs. Duval?” 

“ That depends,” was the reply ; “ as all of you 
well know, there are novels and novels. How, I con- 
sider Love Me Little , Love Me L,ong one of the most 
instructive' books that ever was written, because it 
contains such an excellent description of a gentle- 
woman.” 

“Ah, yes, Lucy Fountain,” returned Mollie. “ Don’t 
you wish you had her here as a model for us all? ” 
“Ho,” replied Mrs. Duval; “as a model she does 
better in print. A flesh-and-blood model of good 
breeding is too liable to excite envy. Here come the 
candles. If you have brought the book down with 
you, Mollie, we’ll all study it a while before prayers. 
I shall begin at the beginning, as on the very first 


A GENTLEWOMAN. 


175 


page Lucy is represented as exercising the virtue of 
sympathy — a not very common one, by the way — 
listening kindly to her hostess’s apocryphal stories 
of her early heart troubles. To listen patiently to 
what one does not believe, or even to what does not 
interest one, is, as you all probably know from expe- 
rience, a task that sometimes tests one’s good breeding 
to the utmost.” 

The response to this was a chorus of sighs, after 
which Mrs. Duval went on : “ Soon a disturbance 
occurs in the nursery which Lucy is deputed to quell, 
as she is so accomplished in the art of governing chil- 
dren by the rule of kindness. Master Reginald hav- 
ing been brought to beg pardon of his insulted nurse, 
Lucy goes down to lunch with Mrs. Bazalgette, 
which repast is interrupted by the arrival of a letter 
from Mr. Fountain, informing Mrs. Bazalgette that 
Lucy is due at Fountain Abbey, whereupon the 
former, who is much distressed, remarks to the 
young lady, ‘You don’t care a straw whether you are 
happy or miserable. What pleasure awaits you at 
Fountain Abbey ? ’ 

“‘The pleasure of giving pleasure,’ is the reply. 
* I am prized there, and they always receive me with 
open arms.’ 

“ ‘ So is a hare when it comes into a trap,’ says Mrs. 
Bazalgette, sharply, drawing upon a limited knowl- 
edge of grammar and field-sports. ‘You are always 


176 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


ready to put down your work and take up your un- 
cle’s, and to play at liis vile backgammon and share 
bis desolation.’ 

“Arrived at Fountain Abbey, Lucy is kept up by 
her uncle until midnight, to assist him in deciphering 
some musty genealogy. At the end of the evening 
Miss Fountain ‘first crushes, and then so molds a 
yawn that it glides into society as a smile.’ 

“‘I hope you will sleep well,’ says Mr. Fountain. 
‘ I am sure I shall, dear,’ replies she, sweetly and in- 
advertently. 

“Mr. Fountain, in spite of his own selfishness, greatly 
admires his unselfish niece. He sees her superiority 
to the ordinarily polite people of society, and he says 
it is because ‘ she, droll creature, is polite at heart — 
takes it from her mother, who was something between 
an angel and a duchess.’ 

“At Fountain Abbey Lucy is in her glory, for, being 
mistress of the house, she can carry complaisance such 
a long way. At her uncle’s dinner-parties she ‘ would 
glide to one egotist after another, find out the mono- 
tope, and set the critter off on it.’ 

“ When David Dodd and his sister come to spend 
the evening Lucy, who is reading some interesting 
book, lays it down with a vexed expression which, 
had they seen, they would instantly have ’bout ship 
and home again ; but this sour look dissolves as they 
enter, and she comes to meet them beaming with 

7 o 


A GENTLEWOMAN. 


177 


courtesy and kindness. David, the sailor, is stiff in 
ladies’ society ; a dismal evening sets in ; Mr. Fountain 1 
explodes into a yawn of magnitude ; Lucy begins 
hastily to play her old game of setting people astride 
on their topic ; her habitual courtesy has hitherto 
drawn up pumps ; now, when least expected, all in a 
minute it lets off a man. 

“ When the Dodds come again David by invitation 
brings his violin, and soon music is proposed. Lucy 
says, ‘ I feel sure Mr. Dodd can play a livre ouvert .’ 

“ ‘ Not he,’ says Ruth Dodd, hypocritically, being 
secretly convinced that he can. ‘ David, can you play 
d leevre ouvert f Who is it by, Miss Fountain?’ 
Lucy does not move a muscle. 

“ When Mrs. Bazalgette visits her niece at Fountain 
Abbey she takes a fancy to David Dodd, but, the 
fancy not extending itself to his sister, she requests 
that Ruth be left out of Lucy’s next invitation. 

“ 4 Ask me to be any thing else, aunt,’ replies Miss 
Fountain, 4 but do not ask me to be rude.’ 

“ Unlike too many other girls, Lucy takes no pleas- 
ure in rejecting lovers, no matter how high they may 
stand in the social scale, and doesn’t let them propose 
when it can be prevented. She is, however, taken by 
surprise when Captain Kenealy, her aunt’s friend, 
being left tete-a-tete in the garden with her, ‘pawps’ the 
question, whereupon she scolds him till he apologizes 

by declaring that he did it ‘ only out of civility.’ 

12 


178 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


“ £ Come, then,’ slie rejoins ; ‘the case is not so blade 
as it appeared. Courtesy is a good thing, and if you 
thought, after staying a month in the house, you were 
bound by etiquette to propose to the marriageable 
part of it, it is pardonable ; only don’t do so again, 
please.’ 

“ When the rejected suitor asks her to say nothing 
about it she replies : 

“ ‘ Captain Kenealy, I am not one of your garrison 
ladies ; I am a young person who has been educated. 
Your extra civility shall never be known to a soul ! ’ ” 

“ It is odd,” observed Belle Templeton, “ that Miss 
Fountain should, in the end, throw herself away upon 
a common sailor.” 

“ Why, he loved the very ground she stood on,” 
said Mollie. “ Don’t you remember she caught him 
stooping down and kissing it ? ” 

“David Dodd was a very ^wcommon sailor,” re- 
turned Mrs. Duval ; “ and after becoming Mrs. Dodd 
Lucy continued to be a gentlewoman. An acquaint- 
ance says of her on the last page : ‘ What I like about 
Mrs. Dodd is she is so truthful. She is not a woman 
who blurts out unpleasant things without any necessity ; 
she is kind and considerate in word and deed ; but 
she is always true. She has an eye that meets you 
like a little lion’s eye, and a tongue without guile.’ ” 


SKELETON - CL OSETS. 


179 


XXXIII. 

SKELETON-CLOSETS. 

“ Many a shaft, at random sent, 

Finds mark the archer little meant.” — Scott. 

“ ‘ If wisdom’s ways you wisely seek, 

Five things observe with care ; 

Of whom you speak, to whom you speak, 

And how, and when, and where ! ’ ” 

So read Sue Mansfield from an almanac slie had 
been consulting in regard to the new moon. 

“ I once read another verse of that somewhere,’’ 
said Mollie Archer. “ I don’t remember the rhyme, 
but I know that they expressed surprise that the 
author of the first verse should say ‘ how,’ and 6 when,’ 
and ‘ where,’ without once mentioning 1 what.’ ” 

“ And 4 what ’ is the main thing,” added Maggie 
Yates. 

“ That it is,” returned Mollie ; “ and I think it is 
too bad the way we young ones are treated by older 
persons who wont tell us what we shouldn’t talk 
about in company, but scold us all the same if we 
make blunders. I shall never forget how miserable 
I was, and how vexed my uncle was on one occasion 
last summer, when I got into trouble through no fault 
of my own. We were traveling among the mount- 


180 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


ains, and, being delayed a day in Y , my uncle 

took me to see an old friend of liis, a lady living a 
short distance out of town. Well, of course she 
talked scenery to me, and I repeated what some one 
at the hotel had said that morning, that all it lacked 
was an old baronial castle here and there. 4 Soon 

after we left S ,’ I went on , 4 we passed what looked 

something like one, but uncle informed me that it was 
only the penitentiary.’ The lady gave me a stare in 
reply which I thought wasn’t very polite, and then 
turning to uncle began talking about some alterations 
she wished to make in the ground. 4 There are trees 
that ought to be cut down,’ said she, 4 but I dislike 
to give the order during my husband’s absence. I 
presume there is no danger of their falling for years 
to come.’ 

“ 4 Where is Mr. B ? ’ asked I. 

44 Mrs. B gave me another stare and then re- 

plied shortly, 4 lie is not at home.’ Uncle began to 
talk furiously about the weather, and a few minutes 
later proposed leaving. We were hardly out of the 
door before he attacked me for asking such a question. 

44 4 Where was the harm ? ’ asked I. 

44 4 Mr. B is in that penitentiary you admired 

so much, serving a term for forgery, that’s all,’ said he. 

44 4 Well, how was I to guess that ? ’ asked I, and I 

m 

suppose the conundrum was too hard for him, as he 
made no answer.” 


SKELETON- CL OSETS. 


181 


“ 6 Every house has its skeleton-closet, so it is said,” 
remarked Sue. “ I opened one last summer, much to 
mamma’s distress ; but I had the same excuse Mollie 
had ; I knew nothing of the troubles of the people 
we were calling upon, as they had only lately come 
to the neighborhood. There was some allusion made 
to a trial that the newspapers were full of at that 
time, and the question arose, Would the prisoner be 
convicted of murder — lie had shot his wife’s lover — 
or let off with manslaughter ? ‘ I have no sympathy 

with him,’ said I ; ‘he might have known there was 
trouble in store for him when he married a divorced 
woman.’ Then there was a silence. Mrs. Black, the 
lady of the house, looked like a tliunder-cloud (her 
name suited her for once), and mamma looked as if 
she were just about to faint. 

“ ‘ Why, Susan,’ said she, when we were on our way 
home (she never calls me Susan unless she is dread- 
fully put out), ‘ what possessed you to make such a 
speech ? ’ 

“ ‘ Mamma, I heard you say just the same thing 
yesterday,’ replied I. ‘It was you I got the idea 
from.’ 

“ ‘ But you never heard me say it in the hearing of 
Mrs. Black,’ rejoined mamma. ‘ She was a divorcee 
when Mr. Black married her.’ 

“‘Well, mamma, how was I to tell that from her 
looks?’ asked I. ‘I remember you and Aunt Jane 


182 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


were talking about her the other day when I came into 
the room where you were sitting, but you changed the 
subject directly.’ ” 

“ I don’t believe in that saying about there being a 
skeleton-closet in every house,” observed Maggie 
Yates. “I am sure there is none in ours. Sue, if 
you don’t mind I’ll get your notes and practice the 
‘Nun’s Prayer ’ a while before our prayers.” 

“ Maggie may believe what she is saying,” remarked 
Kate Drury, after Maggie had left the room, “ but 
when mamma heard I had been invited to Mrs. Yates's 
to make a visit she wrote that she hoped I would be 
very careful not to mention Sister Ursula, who is at 
a convent near where we live, as she is Mrs. Yates’s 
younger sister, and w T as so imprudent in her youth 
that she was dropped completely by her family, who 
now speak of her as dead. I forgot it entirely, though, 
and when Maggie asked me the second day at dinner, 
calling my attention to the portrait of one of her rel- 
atives, if I did not think the face was pretty, I re- 
plied, ‘ Not half so pretty as the portrait I saw in the 
attic when we were playing hide and seek with the 
children — the one that had its face to the wall till 
Harry threw it down.’ 

“ ‘ That was the portrait of my Aunt Theresa,’ said 
Maggie. 

“ ‘ Your Aunt Theresa ? It doesn’t look any thing 
like her,’ replied I. 


SKELETON- CL OSETS. 


183 


“‘You never saw her,’ said Maggie. ‘She died 
young. You are thinking of my Aunt Marianne, whom 
you saw here yesterday.’ 

“ ‘ I am thinking of Sister Ursula,’ I was beginning, 
forgetting what mamma had said, when Mrs. Yates 
interrupted us by sending Maggie into the hall to see 
what one of the children was crying about. Maggie 
seemed surprised that she should be sent instead of 
a servant, but she went, and when she was gone I 
remembered that Sister Ursula (whom I have seen 
often, and whom mamma speaks of as ‘ Theresa’ be- 
cause she knew her as a girl) was not to be talked 
about at Mrs. Yates’s.” 

“‘Never speak of a rope in the family of a man 
who has been hanged,’ ” quoted Hattie Hammond. 

“ I shouldn’t speak of a thread, not to say a rope,” 
returned Mollie, “ if I only knew what men had been 
hanged, but I never suspect trouble when people look 
all right. If uncle had only told me about the for- 
gery and its consequences I shouldn’t even have looked 
at the bird-cage or any thing suggestive of a lock-up. 
They don’t tell us these things for fear we’ll talk 
about them when it is being left in ignorance that 
leads us to say the wrong thing. If we knew what 
the skeleton was we should not go poking into the 
closet where it was kept.” 

“ Sometimes it is youthful imprudence,” observed 
Mrs. Duval, “and sometimes it is idiocy, or insanity, 


184 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


or drunkenness, or matrimonial miseries ; there are so 
many varieties of skeletons that, though, like Maggie, 
I do not believe the saying that every house has its 
skeleton-closet, still one has to be very careful as to 
what doors one opens, no matter where one may be, 
in order to avoid rattling the bones of what should be 
let alone. As for your elders putting you on your 
guard by letting you into family secrets, you young 
girls are so dreadfully careless — as Kate here has tes- 
tified — that the danger seems as great one way as the 
other.” 


SYMPATHY. 


185 


XXXIV. 

SYMPATHY. 

“ 0, ask not, hope not thou too much 
Of sympathy below ; 

Few are the hearts whence the same touch 
Bids the sweet fountains flow ! ” — Mrs. Hemans. 

“Ugh! wliat a goose I have been!” exclaimed 
Sue Mansfield. “ I met Ellen Gordon in the hall 
just now, and I was so full of what I had heard from 
Mr. Bichards about his son’s obtaining the scholar- 
ship, and the great success of his essay on the aster- 
oids, that what did I do but stop and tell her all about 
it, expecting her to be as glad as I was.” 

“ Well, wasn’t she?” asked Maggie Yates. 

“I should judge not, as she only said, ‘Is tlia-at so?’ 
I was so vexed that I said I supposed she had learned 
that question from Amelia Dixon, and I informed 
her that it was as uncivil as it was foolish.” 

“ So it was,” observed Mrs. Duval, “ however un- 
civil in you to tell her so.” 

“ It was so silly,” Sue went on, “ her asking me, 
‘Is tha-at so?’ as if I would turn right around and 
contradict what I had just said.” 

“Instead of answering, 4 Is tha-at so?”’ remarked 
Mollie Archer, “ Georgina Metcalf used to come back 


186 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


at me with, ‘ You don’t sa-ay.’ I would reply, 4 Yes, I 
do sa-ay, but I’ll not sa-ay it again, as you take so little 
interest in wliat I am sa-aying.’ ” 

“ When I tell any thing I am interested in,” ob- 
served Laura Lamar, “ I’d rather hear either of those 
expressions than the reply of our backwoods neigh- 
bors, 4 1 wonder ! ’ I don’t mind the words so much, 
but the lackadaisical way in which they are said fairly 
drives me wild.” 

“Yes; that’s the trouble,” said Sue. “It is the 
want of interest. Now, if Ellen had answered me 
just now, ‘Good gracious sakes o’ life! You don’t 
tell me so ! ’ Mrs. Duval, if she had heard her, would 
have been shocked at her coarseness; but then I 
should have felt encouraged to go on.” 

“We all like sympathy,” observed Mrs. Duval. 
“ I suppose you remember the boys in Adam Bede 
who, as a companion in going to church, preferred 
the housemaid to their cousin Hettie because the 
former was always ready to cry ‘Lawks!’ when 
they showed her any thing along the way. Children 
who have never learned to repress themselves always 
demand sympathy as their right.” 

“ That they do ! ” returned Mollie. “ When I had 
charge of Theo and Adele this afternoon, and was 
trying to make Adele go to sleep, in order to keep 
Theo quiet I gave him pencil and paper and set him 
to drawing a picture of himself to send to his grand- 


SYMPATHY. 


187 


ma. First lie drew the eyes, and then came and asked, 
4 Don’t they look like my eyes, Mollie ? ’ Then he 
drew the nose, and came again to ask, 4 Doesn’t it 
look like my nose, Mollie?’ And so on down to the 
feet, interrupting me every minute in my lullaby.” 

44 I suppose we all like sympathy as well as Tlieo 
does,” remarked Sue ; 44 but these 4 Is tlia-at so’s ’ and 
4 You don’t sa-ay’s’ break us of asking for it continu- 
ally.” 

44 We always sympathize with people we love,” 
said Fanny Templeton. 44 Don’t we, Belle ? ” 

44 Not always,” returned her sister. 44 1 admit yon 
never fail to give me your sympathy in the daytime, 
but when I am telling you my troubles at night you 
sometimes answer with a faint snore which makes 
me feel worse than ever.” 

44 1 can sympathize with children,” observed Mol- 
lie, 44 no matter how often they come bothering me ; 
but I am sometimes inclined to say, 4 Is tlia-at so ? ’ to 
older persons.” 

44 Any tiling to quiet them,” responded Sue, 44 when 
they insult a body’s understanding with stories about 
themselves that no one but a gibbering idiot could 
believe.” 

44 1 think,” said Maggie, reflectively, 44 that that is 
why we all like Dora Gordon better than we do Ellen. 
No matter what people have to tell Dora she is always 
willing to listen and— well, I wont say pretend to 


188 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


take an interest, because I don’t like to use sucli a 
word in connection with Dora, though it is hard to 
believe she can really be interested in every body’s 
affairs.” 

“That comes with practice,” said Mrs. Duval. 
“ She is accustomed to efface herself (as the French 
express it), and, in conversation, give all her interest 
to what her companions have to say to her, in this 
way cultivating her natural gift of sympathy — a gift 
which, like a low, sweet voice, is 4 an excellent thing 


in a woman. 


MISS CLYMER'S VALENTINES. 


189 


XXXV. 

MISS CLYMER’S VALENTINES. 

“ Apollo has peeped through the shutter, 

And wakened the witty and fair ; 

The boarding-school belle’s in a flutter, 

The twopenny post’s in despair.” — Praed. 

“ Xot a single valentine have I delivered this day,” 
remarked Sue Mansfield on the evening of the 14th 
of February. 

“I was monitress last Valentine’s Day,” observed 
Laura Lamar, “ and I delivered five or six ; but they 
were all for Miss Clymer, and she isn’t here now.” 

“Ah, that was one of the dark scenes of history ! ” 
sighed Mollie Archer — “I mean the history of St. 
Mary’s. Such a time as there was after prayers that 
evening! Do you remember it, Laura?” 

“ That I do ! ” replied Laura. “ I felt as though 
I were to blame somehow, as I had put the letter on 
Miss Clymer’s plate at tea-time ; but as I had taken 
it out of the mail-bag with the letters how was I to 
know who sent it ? ” 

“What was the trouble about?” asked Maggie 
Yates. “ I am at the first of it, as last Valentine’s Day 
I went home early in the afternoon (it was Friday, you 
know) and did not return to school till Monday.” 


190 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


“ Well, it was Ellen Gordon’s fault, to begin with,” 
said Mollie. “ You remember, Sue, how vexed she 
was because Miss Clymer kept on getting valentines 
in every mail, while she didn’t get one ? ” 

“Yes, I remember,” returned Sue. “She said 
she supposed they were all from freshmen — that she 
herself wouldn’t care to have a valentine from any 
thing less than a junior. O, she was in a fine lmrnor 
about it ! ” 

“ Yes; and it was when she was in that humor that 
Emma Guice came and put her up to mischief. You 
know Emma never could bear Miss Clymer, although 
they roomed together, so it was nuts to her to wound 
her in any way. Well, it seems that Rachel had 
received several comic valentines, one of them from 
young Jenkins, whom she had thrown over for a 
livery-stable man in X .” 

“ Why, Mollie, I didn’t know before that you were 
in Rachel’s confidence,” said Belle Templeton. 

“I am not, but Emma Guice is, and she occa- 
sionally betrays confidence, serving the simpletons 
right who tell their secrets to her! Well, this valen- 
tine had the picture of a tall, thin girl with an 
immense mouth stretched wide open, and holding a 
sheet of music in her hand. I don’t exactly remem- 
ber the lines underneath, but there was someth inor 
about a ‘Maypole creature’ who was an ‘awful 
screecher.’ Why it should have been sent to Rachel 


MISS CLYMER' S VALENTINES. 


191 


I cannot imagine, as she is short and dumpy, and 
never attempts to sing ; but she was very much pro- 
voked by it, all the same, and was just going to tear 
it up when Emma Guice begged her for it, and 
Ellen Gordon promised her a fancy apron if she 
would never mention to another soul that she had 
received such a valentine. Of course Rachel prom- 
ised faithfully, and then went directly to the nursery 
and told Martha about it, not seeing Mrs. Duval, who 
was in the room. This led Mrs. Duval to suspect 
something, and so, when Miss Clymer received her 
sixth valentine for the day — Rachel’s valentine re- 
directed by Emma Guice — and burst into tears over 
it (you know her mouth isn’t little, and her voice is 
much louder than it is sweet), Mrs. Duval who was sit- 
ting opposite her at table asked to see it, and wouldn’t 
take any refusal, though Miss Clymer was reluctant 
about showing it. Mrs. Duval passed the valentine 
on to Dr. Duval after tea, telling him the story. He 
put it in his pocket, bu-t took it out again after 
prayers, and, O dear! didn’t he lecture Emma and 
Ellen before the whole school ! Emma vowed and 
declared she had had nothing to do with it, but Ellen 
only cried, and then Dora cried ; and then I think 
the rest of us felt like crying out of sympathy for 
Dora. Dr. Duval said that such an act showed envy, 
malice, badness of heart, vulgarity, and — dear knows 
what else besides. Miss Clymer did not stand very 


192 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


high in his classes, but I never knew him to scold so 
before on any body’s account. As for Emma’s denial, 
there was only her word against Rachel’s, and of course 
every one preferred to believe Rachel, as she some- 
times tells the truth. Ellen, as soon as she was out 
of the prayer-room, declared she was going to write 
to her father immediately and beseech him to take 
her home ; but after she had written her note to Miss 
Clymer — both girls were required to write notes of 
apology to Miss Clymer that very evening — she was 
so proud of it that it put her in a tolerably good 
humor again, and she said nothing more about going 
home. It was written on some new-fashioned paper 
that she had just received from New York, and she 
brought it to me to ask if I did not think it was 
gracefully worded.” 

“ Was it ? ” asked Laura. 

“Yes; I know Dora must have composed it for 
her.” 

“ I wonder what kind of note Emma wrote,” said 
Maggie. 

“ She didn’t write one ; at least I suppose she did 
not, as I heard her tell Mrs. Duval that she did.” 

“ Mollie, you are the most uncharitable girl alive,” 
observed Laura. 

“Well, may be I am mistaken,” said Mollie; “but 
she told Mrs. Duval so without waiting to be ques- 
tioned, which, I am sure, looked suspicious ; and be* 


MISS CLYMER'S VALENTINES. 193 

sides, it came into Kate Drury’s head to ask Miss 
Clymer if she had received a note from Emma, and 
so she did ask, and Miss Clymer replied that she 
would rather not say.” 

“ How horrid in Kate to bring up disagreeables ! ” 
observed Laura; “but it was just like her.” 

“ Laura, you are the most uncharitable girl alive,” 
said Mollie, gravely. 

“ I stand reproved,” returned Laura. “ I wont call 
you black any more, you sooty pot.” 

“ I am glad I wasn’t here that evening,” said Mag- 
gie. “ I hate scoldings and scenes.” 

“ You were very fortunate in being absent,” re- 
turned Belle Templeton. “ It was extremely disa- 
greeable. And so small a thing to excite envy ! 
Half a dozen foolish valentines! I never had but 
one valentine in my life, and that I threw in the fire 
as soon as I had glanced at it — it was so loving and 
silly.” 

“ Y alentines do not happen to be your weakness,” 
observed Sue. “ If Miss Clymer could show a better- 
looking family tree than yours, or was related to more 
judges and naval officers, and such things, you would 
feel curious too.” 

“Hot very likely,” returned Belle, tossing her 
head. “ But if she were to set up one ailment that 
you didn’t have you would feel just as Ellen did 
about the valentines.” 

13 


194 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


“Perhaps so,” said Sue (who sometimes disap- 
pointed her companions by being good-natured) ; 
“and so I wont throw even a pebble at Ellen, 
though I do think she ought to be thoroughly 
ashamed of herself for giving way to such envious 
feelings.” 


POISON BOOKS. 


195 


XXXVI. 

POISON BOOKS. 

“Lydia. Here, my dear Lucy, hide these books. Quick, quick! ” 

— The Rivals. 

“Mr. Berger,” said Maggie Yates, stopping that 
gentleman as, accompanied by Mr. Richards, lie was 
about to pass a group of us assembled on the back pi- 
azza late one afternoon, “Mr. Berger, did you say 
Corinne was a bad book ? ” 

“ Xon ; who say I said such a t’ing ? ” and a dawn- 
ing grin lighted up the professor’s face as he asked 
this question. 

“ Amelia Dixon,” was the reply. 

“ Dat is goot ! ” exclaimed Mr. Berger. “ Dat is 
why Corinne is gone from my book-case. Mees 
Dixon was dere yesterday, looking ofer some hand- 
somely bound books, and when she pull out Corinne 
I say sternly, ‘ Let dat alone ! I wish not my young 
ladies to touch dat.’ Voila de consequence. Mees 
Dixon haf Corinne hid in her room dis day, and she 
study hard her dictionary and grammaire in order to 
read what she understan’ me to say was an improper 
book.” 

“That scheme was worthy of Macchiavelli,” oh- 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL . 


served Mr. Richards. “ I wish I could persuade some 
of m y pupils — I wont name any names here, but they 
will understand — that chemistry is a black art, and 
astronomy no better than astrology.” 

“ That wouldn’t recommend them to me,” said Belle 
Templeton. “ I never cared for any thing disreputa- 
ble.” 

“ I can say the same thing,” observed Bertha Holt, 
“ whether you apply the term to books or to persons. 
Odi prof anum vulgus et arceo .” 

“ Me too,” said Mollie Archer, “ whatever your 
Latin may mean.” 

“ I never could understand,” remarked Belle, “ how 
girls who have been brought up in respectable fami- 
lies could disgrace themselves by reading dubious 
books.” 

“Look at home,” returned Kate Drury. “ Yester 
day, Sunday as it was, I found Fanny there, reading 
a book that mamma w T ill not allow to come into our 
house.” 

“ I was reading Childe Harold's Pilgrimage ,” said 
Fanny Templeton. “I thought it would be some- 
thing like The Pilgrim's Progress , only in rhyme ; 
but it wasn’t half so interesting, and I soon put it 
down.” 

“ Ho harm done, you see,” said Mr. Richards, speak- 
ing to Kate, but glancing kindly at Fanny, who was an 
especial favorite of his. 


POISON BOOKS. 


197 


44 Mamma considers Byron rank poison,” Kate 
went on, “and even Moore she doesn’t care much 
for.” 

44 As for that matter,” said Mr. Richards, 44 when we 
take into consideration the amount of poisoning that 
books may do one might say that half of the light lit- 
erature published should not be sold without a doctor’s 
prescription ; and this reminds me of what my little 
boy said when he and I were dining at Vanosti’s the 
other day. I sent him in first, as I stopped to speak 
to a friend at the door, and when I went in I found 
him studying the menu. 4 Papa,’ said he, 4 what do 
you think ? They have got poison for dinner, and 
they don’t spell it right, either.’ 

44 4 Poison is all right,’ replied I, 4 when it is spelt 
with two s’s on a bill of fare. All you have to do is 
to keep clear of the bones in it. I shall order some as 
soon as I have had my soup. But,’ continued I, 4 1 
noticed you hanging around that stand just outside 
of the door where there was a good deal of poison 
spread out at one dime per copy. Now, if you invest 
your dimes in any of it you will be much older and 
wiser than you are at present when I bring you to 
X again.’ 

44 4 Would it kill me ? ’ asked he. 

44 4 It might cause you to be choked to death,’ said 
I. 4 Dime novels often start boys on the road to the 
gallows.’ ” 


19S 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


44 We have a neighbor,” observed Kate Drury, “ who 
lets her little boy, only seven years old, read every 
dime novel he can lay hands on, and is proud of his 
literary taste, which, she says, he inherits from her- 
self. I should say he did, as she spends half her time 
reading books that, if they were to be found in our 
house, mamma would throw into the fire, no matter 
whose they were.” 

“ That makes me think of what happened at home 
just a day or two before I left,” said Sue Mansfield. 
44 Mamma found a book in the strangers’ room soon 
after the departure of a visitor and made such an ex- 
clamation over it that, followed by two or three of the 
children, I rushed into the room, thinking she had 
seen a mouse. By that time she had dropped the 
book on the floor, and when she took it up again it 
was with the tongs. Followed by a procession of us, 
she marched into the dining-room, where we found 
papa, and there she deposited the thing on the top of 
a wood-fire. 

44 4 What is it ? ’ asked papa. 

“ Mamma told him the title. 

44 4 Then look, children, and you will see the devil 
going up in the smoke,’ said papa. 

44 Of course the children all looked for the individual 
mentioned and pretended they could see him ; and 
then they got up a panic, and there was so much 
screaming and running that poor mamma complained 


POISON BOOKS. 


199 


that between such a visitor and such children she was 
ready to go distracted.” 

“ Was he a very bad man ? ” asked Fanny. 

“ Who ? ” asked Sue. 

“Your visitor.” 

“ He was a woman ; that was the worst of it ; and a 
very relined lady she claimed to be ; but papa said if 
she ever came again he was going to quarantine her 
books. Mamma afterward said she was surprised 

that Miss W , at her time of life, should carry such 

a book about with her, and she thinks that the speech 

must have been reported to Miss W , for she gave 

mamma the cut direct when they next met, which 
was at the house of an acquaintance.” 

“ A good riddance of bad rubbish,” said Kate Drury. 

And though she might have expressed herself in 
more elegant English none of us could find fault with 
the opinion. 


200 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


XXXYII. 

MOI-MEME. 

“ 0 impudent! regardful of thine own, 

Whose thoughts are centered on thyself alone/’ — Dryden. 

“What was the commotion about at your table to- 
day at dinner ? ” asked Kate Drury of Mollie Archer. 
“ Even Dr. Duval’s attention was attracted. He kept 
on looking over there while. Ellen Gordon and Amelia 
were having words.” 

“ Couldn’t you hear what was going on ? ” asked Mol- 
lie, in reply. “ I thought Amelia spoke loudly enough 
to be heard in every corner of the room when she 
called out, ‘Steady, there, Ellen! Fair play is a 
jewel.’ It was the first time Amelia ever said any 
thing that pleased me, and I hope when there is an- 
other occasion for it she will say it again and say it 
louder. Ellen was, as usual, trying to pocket more 
than her share of the apples. You know there are only 
two apiece for us, so, if she takes three, the last comer 
has only one. Well, it so happened to-day that Amelia 
had not grabbed her two before Ellen helped herself, 
and so she was interested in the dish and called out. 
The rest of us give w r ay to Ellen on Dora’s account, 
and let her take more than her share of apples or sweet 


MOIU&ME. 


201 


pickles or any tiling else she likes ; bat it is 4 Greek 
joins Greek ’ between her and Amelia Dixon, and I 
am glad of it.” 

“Ellen Gordon is too outrageously selfish to live,” 
observed Laura Lamar, “ and it is all Dora’s fault. I 
roomed with them for three months, so I ought to 
know what I am talking about. Dora never thinks 
once of herself, but she has an idea that the whole 
room, and the earth itself, for that matter, belongs to 
Ellen, and it was just too dreadful for any thing the 
way Ellen used to go on. She broke the handle of 
her pitcher one evening, and the very next day I found 
my pitcher, a nice china one that mamma had bought 
for me herself, in her basin, and her old no-handled 
thing in mine. Of course I changed them back again, 
but the next day she had mine again, and kept on tak- 
ing it till I threatened to complain to Mrs. Duval. It 
was the same thing with my hair-brush, which she 
liked better than hers, and which I had to go to her 
bureau for when I was impudent enough to wish to 
use it myself. The worst of it was she used to get it 
all greased up with her scented hair oils, while I never 
in my life put any thing on my hair in the way of 
grease. She did leave my tooth-brush alone, but that 
was the only thing of mine that was safe from her. 
My hand-mirror she used until she broke it, and the 
only satisfaction I had was to tell her it was her look- 
ing into it that did the mischief. She took a fancy to 


202 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


my bed, and I had to give that up and take hers, 
which had one of the castors off and rocked terribly. 
Then she used to hang her dresses over mine in the 
wardrobe, complaining she hadn’t hooks enough of her 
own, and get mine all mussed up. I never saw a girl 
like her for spreading herself all over a room. She 
would put her books on my shelves, cover up her leaf 
of the table with rubbish, and then come around to my 
leaf to write her letters. But the most disagreeable 
part of her selfishness was her having Emma Guice in 
after prayers in the evening when Dora and I wished 
to study our lessons, and the two reading aloud Terri - 
jpest and Sunshine or some other novel all the even- 
ing. If it hadn’t been for Dora I should have com- 
plained to Mrs. Duval time and again about Ellen.” 

“ I should have done it anyway,” observed Kate. 
“ If Dora couldn’t make Ellen behave herself it was 
only right that some one else should.” 

“ Yes,” said Bertha Holt, with decision; “every 
one should be taught to know the difference between 
meum and tuum , and Ellen has no more right to rob 
you of your study-hours than she would have to take 
your pocket-money.” 

“ Because it was Ellen,” Laura continued, “ Dora 
made believe that she could study with the reading 
going on, but I knew she couldn’t — that is, not with 
any comfort. How, I have always been told at home 
that I am intensely selfish, but — ” 


MOLM&ME. 


203 


“ But,” said Mollie, as Laura hesitated, “it is a 
satisfaction to find some one twenty times as bad as 
yourself. Is that wliat you were going to say ? ” 

“ No, not that exactly. What I meant to say was 
that it never gives me pleasure to favor myself by 
incommoding others. I don’t care to efface myself, 
as Mrs. Duval says Dora does, but, at the same time, 
I don’t think I am much given to make myself nu- 
merous. Dear me ! I suppose I must fine myself for 
that, as Miss Bond says it is slang.” 

“ There’s where you show your selfishness,” said 
Mollie, gravely. “ You shock Belle Templeton’s aris- 
tocratic ears by the use of slang just because it comes 
easier to you than correct English.” 

“ I think Dora Gordon is selfish,” observed Sue 
Mansfield, reflectively. “ The only difference between 
her selfishness and other people’s is that it is Ellen’s 
self she thinks about, and not her own.” 

“ Selfish people wouldn’t be half so horrid if it 
were not for unselfish people,” said Maggie Yates. 
“ Ellen would soon learn her place if she were put 
into the room with Amelia Dixon.” 

“ Attacking Miss Dixon, as usual ? ” asked Mrs. 
Duval, w T ho entered the room in time to catch Mag- 
gie’s last words. 

“Mistaken for once!” exclaimed Mollie. “We 
were just speaking of our dear, precious Amelia 
Dixon as a public benefactor — that is, we were saying 


204 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


she might be if you would give her Ellen Gordon to 
labor with for a while. Ellen, you know, is a little 
disposed to take care of number one.” 

“ And who among you has a right to throw stones 
at her on that account ? ” asked Mrs. Duval. 

“ If Dora were here she would have,” replied Mag- 
gie Yates, breaking the silence that followed this 
question. 

“ Yes ; Dora is a singularly unselfish girl,” rejoined 
Mrs. Duval ; “ and in all my experience of school- 
girls this virtue is the rarest I have discovered. Gen- 
erally, whatever redeeming traits a miss in her teens 
may possess, she is apt to put 6 the idol self ’ foremost 
among her objects of worship.” 


A “ GAME- MAKE: 


205 


XXXYIII. 

A ** GAME-MAKE.” 

“ Whose ox was gored ? ” — iEsoP. 

“ It looks something like Agnes Carr,” observed 
Hattie Hammond, one evening, as she returned to 
Maggie Yates a photograph (the likeness of one of 
that young lady’s cousins) that had been going the 
rounds of the company for inspection and admi- 
ration. 

“ Ugh ! ” exclaimed Maggie, “ if that is all you 
can say for it I wish you had held your tongue.” 

“ Why, Agnes wasn’t a bad-looking girl, as well as 
I remember her,” was the reply. “ She had a re- 
markably good set of teeth.” 

“ Yes, and was always showing them like a Cheshire 
cat. She set up for what the children at home call a 
6 game-make,’ and when she ridiculed people she al- 
ways grinned at her own wit.” 

When Maggie had gone to put away her photo- 
graphs, of which she had been exhibiting quite a 
number, Mollie Archer remarked : 

“ That poor child can never get over Miss Carr’s 
saying that the sight of Maggie Yates always re- 
minded her of the definition of line in geometry : 


206 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


‘ That which has length without breadth or thick- 
ness.’ ” 

“ Lord Chesterfield very truly observes ” (this from 
Bertha Holt) “ that ridicule is never forgiven.” 

“ I am not apt to forgive it as long as I remember 
it,” confessed Mollie, candidly ; “ but, fortunately for 
my peace of mind, I am not good at remembering 
such things.” 

“ I forgive it as a Christian,” said Hattie Ham- 
mond, drawing herself up and looking virtuous. “ I’d 
like to know what you are smiling at, Sue Mansfield.” 

“ I was only thinking of W amba, in Ivanhoe ,” re- 
plied Sue. “ You remember, when Boxana tells De 
Bracy that she forgives him as a Christian Wamba 
puts in with, ‘ That means she doesn’t forgive you at 
all.’ ” 

“ But I do really forgive,” said Hattie. 

“ Then I wish,” observed the candid Kate Drury, 
“ that you wouldn’t be continually abusing people 
who have ridiculed you or offended you in any way. 
You never have a good word for that Miss Pinkham 
who was here last year, and we all know it was be- 
cause she said (or because Emma Guice told you she 
said) that your singing reminded her of the baa-ing 
of a goat.” 

It was unfortunate that Kate, on this occasion, had 
been bound to say what came into her head, for the 
painful reminder caused Hattie to blush up to the 


a “ game-make: 


207 


roots of her hair, showing that, though she might 
forgive like a Christian, she was, like all young girls 
(and old ones too, for that matter), extremely sensitive 
to ridicule. 

“ Lord Chesterfield was about three quarters right,” 
observed Sue. “ It is the hardest matter in the world 
to forgive ridicule ; abuse and slander are nothing in 
comparison.” 

“ The strangest thing about it,” said Mollie, “ is 
that these ‘game-makes,’ as Maggie calls them, are 
themselves so excessively sensitive to ridicule. I re- 
member this very Agnes Carr, who so doted on 
making game of other girls as soon as they were 
out of hearing — sometimes before they were quite 
out of it — never forgave me for showing the girls 
one afternoon when she was absent how she danced 
the mazurka. I never should have done it in the 
world if I had remembered that Emma Guice was 
present.” 

“Nobody seems to have a back as long as Emma 
Guice is in the house,” returned Sue. “ What she 
doesn’t see and hear for herself other people are apt 
to tell her, and then she goes directly and tells the 
person who oughtn’t to hear it. She says it is only 
an act of friendship to do so.” 

“ Deliver me from such friendship as that ! ” ex- 
claimed Mollie. 

“ I am rather glad,” said Sue, “ that she told Agnes 


208 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL . 


about your dancing the mazurka like her. It is only 
right that these game-makes should be made to know 
how it feels themselves. If you had spoken of her 
reading French novels on Sunday, and said she was 
a wicked creature and likely to injure the school by 
her example, she would have forgiven you in time, 
but taking off her fancy dancing was quite another 
pair of boots.” 

“ Yes, a pair of boots that will pinch as long as she 
remembers me,” sighed Mollie. “ I met her on the 

street in X just the other day, and she didn’t 

condescend to see me as we passed. I was sorry for 
it, because I don’t set up to be a game-make, and I 
don’t like to be remembered in that character.” 

“ I suppose most of us will always remember Agnes 
herself in that character,” observed Dora Gordon. “ I 
shall never forget what a cry poor Ellen had one even- 
ing after hearing that Agnes had been amusing her 
room-mates by mimicking, and of course grossly ex- 
aggerating, Ellen’s entrance into the front parlor that 
morning. She was in there with a visitor when Ellen 
and I went in to see our cousin.” 

“ And of course you were as miserable as Ellen,” 
returned Sue. “ If she had shown off the way you 
went in (supposing she could have made it laughable) 
you wouldn’t have given it a second thought.” 

“ I am not so sure of that,” replied Dora. “ I 
would rather she would ridicule me than Ellen, but I 


a “ game-make: 


209 


liave my share of human nature, though I am not so 
quick to cry out when I am hurt as some other girls 
are.” 

“ Think of Agnes Carr,” said Mollie, wondering 
why this, that, and the other girl didn’t like her, 
knowing all the while she had said of them (and prob- 
ably in Emma Guice’s hearing) what she never would 
dream of forgiving if it were said about herself. 

u Yes,” returned Sue; “ even those who hadn’t 
heard of her ridiculing them heard her making game 
of others, and naturally supposed that their time 
would come as soon as their backs were turned. It is 
said that a favorite has no friends, and I am sure if a 
professional game-make has any she does not deserve 

them.” 

14 


210 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


XXXIX. 

THAT HEATHEN CHINEE. 

“ The pride that apes humility.” — Southey. 

“ Admiring yourself as usual, Ellen,” observed Kate 
Drury, as Ellen Gordon, on entering the back parlor 
one evening, inarched straight up to the mirror and 
took her station before it. 

“ I am doing nothing of the kind,” returned Ellen ; 
“ Amelia Dixon said at tea that there was a deep 
wrinkle across my forehead, and I have come to see 
if she was telling the truth. I know' it is the trouble 
with delicate complexions that they wrinkle so easily, 
and I sometimes wish I had a good thick skin like 
Dora’s.” 

“ Yes,” said Kate ; “ if you had a thicker skin your 
nose wouldn’t grow so red in cold w r eather.” 

“ I’d rather have a red nose than a hooked one any 
day ! ” exclaimed Ellen, flushing with anger. 

“Well,” returned Kate (whose nose was decidedly 
aquiline), “you complain of having too thin a skin, 
and yet when I agree with you that it is too thin you 
must needs flare up. If you wdsli for flattery you 
ought never to come to me for it, as I always tell the 
truth, whether it suits people or not.” 


THAT HEATHEN CHINEE. 


211 


“ Never run yourself down, my dear,” said Mollie 
Archer to Ellen. “ It is quite as ill-bred as to praise 
yourself up (so I have read somewhere), and, besides, 
if there are people around foolish enough to agree 
with you you’ll be ‘riled , 5 as Mr. Jenkins would 
express it . 55 

“ And then ,’ 5 added Sue Mansfield, “ running one’s 
self down is so Janet Wood-ish, and Janet Mood 
was the most tiresome girl alive. If she had praised 
herself up we could at least have given her credit 
for believing what she was saying, but as it was she 
told stories and made a nuisance of herself at the same 
time. It is the style in China, I have heard, to run 
down one’s self and one’s belongings, and as the Chinese 
are different from us in most respects they may like 
it, but I am sure nobody in this country can possibly 
enjoy listening to such Chinese talk.” 

“ I do,” said Mollie — “ that is, I used to like to hear 
Janet Wood begin it whenever Nannie Burt was 
close by.” 

“So did I,” said Laura Lamar; “ for then Janet 
was sure to be well punished for her foolishness. I 
shall never forget the day she was regretting being so 
pale and wishing she had more blood in her cheeks. 
I knew she prided herself on the snowy whiteness of 
her complexion, as she thought it gave her an aristo- 
cratic look, but on this occasion Nannie immediately 
suggested iron and calisaya bark, saying that her 


212 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


Cousin Martha, who used to be as pale as a ghost, 4 O, 
more ghastly white than even you are, Janet, 5 perse- 
vered in taking it until at last she began to have 
something like a color. 4 Not such a bright color as 
I have, 5 said Nannie, 4 but she looked healthier than 
she did before. 5 

44 4 I’d rather be pale than have a washerwoman’s 
complexion, 5 said Janet, and my! didn’t she snap it 
out 1 

44 4 1 thought you wanted a fresh complexion, 5 fal- 
tered Nannie, for even she felt that something was 
wrong. 

44 4 1 have • a fresh complexion, 5 returned Janet, 
4 although I don’t look like a peony. 5 55 

44 No matter what she might say in self-disparage- 
ment, Nannie was always sure to sympathize with 
her, 55 observed Mollie. 44 1 remember once, soon after 
a monthly concert, Janet began to talk about the 
piece she had played and say she knew she had played 
it dreadfully out of time, and she wished she had a 
good ear for music, like Dora Gordon. (She really 
had done very well, and she knew it, but it was Janet’s 
way to run herself down.) 4 You can make up for 
want of ear by practice, 5 said Nannie, kindly, 4 and as 
for not keeping time, that can be corrected by provid- 
ing yourself with a metronome. I saw some for sale 

in a music-store in X , and you would be doing 

well to buy one. 5 


THAT HEATHEN CHINEE. 


213 


“ 4 1 ain very much obliged to you for your advice, 
madam,’ returned Janet, 4 but I do not need a metro- 
nome.’ 

“ 4 Why, I thought you said you had no ear for 
music worth speaking of,’ replied Nannie. 

“ 4 1 have as good an ear for music as any girl in 
this school,’ said Janet. 

44 ‘ W ell, may be I misunderstood you,’ returned 
Nannie ; 4 but if ever you want a metronome just come 
to me and I’ll give you the address of the music- 
dealer who has them for sale.’ 

44 One would think this was a lesson for Janet, but 
the very next day she was silly enough to begin again 
to talk d la Heathen Chinee. This time it was about 
reading aloud. Janet had read the 4 May Queen’ at 
the meeting of the sewing society the evening be- 
fore, and she seized the first opportunity to talk about 
it. O, she was so nervous when she took the book in 
her hand that she came near dropping it. Could we 
hear what she read ? She was sure her voice was in- 
audible half the time. It was cruel to call on any 
one so diffident as herself to read in company ; but of 
course it would have been impolite in her to refuse, 
though she did hope she should never be called on 
again to annoy people with such reading. 

44 4 O, you did well enough,’ said Nannie, encourag- 
ingly, 4 and you are not likely to be bothered in that 
way again, as Miss Bond alwa} T s reads when she is 


214 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


present at the meetings, and she doesn’t inind it, be- 
cause she is a practiced elocutionist.’ 

“ ‘ If I couldn’t read as well as Miss Bond, I’d cut 
my throat!’ exclaimed Janet; whereupon Nannie 
stared at her in amazement, while the rest of us 
laughed.” 

“ So it seems Nannie Burt had her uses after all,” 
observed Mrs. Duval, who had been listening with in- 
terest to Mollie’s recountal. 

“ Yes,” returned Mollie ; “when it came to expos- 
ing humbug of that kind Nannie had, as Josh Billings 
would express it, 4 no equal and few superiors.’ And 
the best of it was she did it so artlessly and uncon- 
sciously.” 

“ I wish,” said Mrs. Duval, “ that all young and 
silly people could be made to understand that self- 
disparagement is not quite as ill-bred as self-praise, 
but it is much more disagreeable to one’s hearers, 
because they are inclined to believe all the while that 
the speaker is angling for compliments in the form of 
contradiction.” 


SELF-REPRESSION. 


215 


XL. 

SELF-REPRESSION. 

“ May I govern my passions with absolute sway, 

And grow wiser and better as life wears away.” — W. Pope. 

“ Sue, you do look intensely disgusted,” remarked 
Mollie Archer. 

“ Do I ? ” asked Sue Mansfield, stretching her neck 
in order to catch a sight of her face in the mirror. 
“ Then I haven’t so much control of myself as I 
thought I had. I was sure I was looking bland and 
serene, but I am afraid I must be growing more and 

more like 4 Mr. F ’s aunt ’ in Little Dorrit — the old 

woman, you know, who informed the company that 
she did hate a fool. I met Ellen Gordon in the hall 
just now, and she showed me a locket her mother had 
sent her as a birthday present. ‘ 1 was fourteen last 
Monday,’ said she — 4 getting to be quite a Methuselah.’ 
Now, that was such an insult to my understanding 
that it was all I could do to keep from saying, ‘ You 
may claim to be four, if you like, but you will never 
see seventeen again as long as you live.’ I wonder 
why some girls will persist in telling me such out- 
rageously improbable stories.” 

“ I should say that was an improbable story ! ” 


216 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


observed Kate Drury. “ Why, Ellen Gordon was 
fifteen when she came to St. Mary’s — I heard Dora 
tell Mrs. Southgate so, when speaking of the studies 
they were to take up — and that was two, no, it was 
three years ago. Sue is right about her never seeing 
seventeen again. Now, if she looked young and 
latli-y, like Maggie Yates there, she might tell such a 
story with some hope of being believed ; but Ellen is 
as well-developed as my sister Ida, who is twenty-one.” 

“ Yes; she takes Sue for an idiot, there can be no 
doubt about that,” said Mollie. 

“ Well, what is one to do, I’d like to know ?” com- 
plained Sue. “ Mamma says I must learn to control 
myself or I’ll grow worse as I grow older, and people 
will avoid me as they do a snapping-turtle ; but if I 
am to be taken for an idiot because I do not tell girls 
like Ellen Gordon what I think of their stories I’ll — 
I’ll—” 

“You’ll be in a bad row for stumps,” said Laura 
Lamar, filling in the pause. “ O, Mrs. Duval, I for- 
got ! But I have a penny in my purse to pay for 
my slang, and here it goes into the fine-box. You 
ought to fine Sue for snapping, and then you will 
soon have enough money to send a missionary.” 

“I think we are all disposed to snap at times,” ob- 
served Mrs. Duval ; “ or, to express the idea in better 
English, we all come near losing our self-control.” 

“That we do!” responded Maggie Yates. “The 


SELF-REPRESSION. 


217 


time I feel like snapping — I mean when I come near 

losing my self-control — is when Mrs. H comes to 

dine with us and begins to make remarks : 4 Cousin 
Anna, I must send you my recipe for making this;’ 

4 Cousin Anna, you ought to see Mrs. B ’s jelly ; ’ 

4 Cousin Anna, your cook doesn’t seem to have much 
experience in bread-making.’ Poor mamma bears it 

all like an angel, and if I were to ask Mrs. H (they 

make me call her 4 Cousin Louisa ’ at home) why she 
doesn’t bring something to eat when she comes, as 
nothing that we have seems to suit her, I should be 
sent away from table and kept on bread and water 
for a week ; but one day I overheard papa saying to 
mamma that 4 Louisa, when she went visiting, ought 
to be invited into the kitchen to assist the cook, for 
one would suppose, judging by her manners and style 
of conversation, that she would feel much more at 
home there than in the parlor.’ ” 

44 Well,” sighed Laura Lamar, 44 it may be unpleas- 
ant to be 4 lower-rated ’ (as our cracker neighbor would 
express it), but it is un pleasanter to be patronized, and 
have to grin and bear it, instead of ordering the patron- 
izing people off to Timbuctoo. We know a family — 
illiterate people who have grown rich since the war — 
who, when they come to see us, praise this and praise 
that, and are so abominably condescending in their 
manners that I sometimes feel like jumping up and 
4 drapping curchey,’ in the cotton-field fashion, saying, 


218 


E VENINGS A T SCHO OL. 


6 Tankee, missis. Yon aint got no old clothes you 
kin gimme, is you, missis ? ’ ” 

“ I suppose we all know people who are aggravat- 
ing in one way or another,” said Mollie. “We have 
a visitor at home who neither ‘ lower-rates 5 nor patron- 
izes, but she agrees, and it makes her dreadfully dis- 
agreeable.” 

“ Agreeing does ? ” exclaimed Maggie. 

“ Yes, when it is carried to excess. I will say one 
thing, and she will agree with me ; two minutes after- 
ward my cousin (who lives with us) will come in and 
say something directly contrary, and our visitor will 
instantly agree with her. Sometimes my cousin and 
I will have an argument, and then our visitor will 
agree with first one and then the other of us till my 
cousin laughs outright, while I feel more like snap- 
ping. Mamma says I’ll have better sense when I 
grow older ; may be she’s right, but with what sense I 
have now such agreeableness is too exasperating for 
any thing.” 

u How odd !” exclaimed Sue. “You complain of 
agreeableness, while my bugbear is a cousin who 
never will agree with me, no matter what I say. I 
think she has been under the impression, ever since I 
was a little thing, that I required a vast amount of 
snubbing and contradiction to make me know my 
place, and she doesn’t seem to remember that, now I 
have arrived at the years of discretion, my opinions 


SELF-REPRESSION. 


219 


ought to be treated with some respect. I am often 
tempted to contradict myself, and then, when she has 
contradicted me the second time, call her attention to 
the story she has told.” 

“ It would be more like you to snap her head off,” 
said Kate Drury. 

“ I have never yet snapped at her, and I don’t think 
1 ever shall,” returned Sue. “I really have a won- 
derful amount of self-control, though I say it that 
shouldn’t say it.” 

“ So have I,” observed Belle Templeton. “ I often 
remind myself of the man who, when he was threat- 
ened with punishment for contempt of court, replied, 
6 1 have shown no contempt of court ; on the contrary, 
I have carefully concealed my feelings.’ ” 

“ It is best to repress such feelings,” said Mrs. Du- 
val. “ You will all learn, as your experience of life 
becomes enlarged, that one of the most needful of vir- 
tues to be cultivated is self-repression.” 


220 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


XLI. 

OLD MRS. GUMMIDGE. 

“ I’m a lone, lorn creatur’.” — D avid Copperfield. 

“Sue,” said Mrs. Southgate one evening, “you 
sometimes remind me of your cousin, Lucy Mansfield, 
who was here — let me see, it must have been ten years 
ago.” 

“ Mrs. Southgate,” replied Sue, speaking with so- 
lemnity, “if you had told me I reminded you of Ame- 
lia Dixon you could not have made me any more 
miserable.” 

“ I intended a compliment, my dear. In all of my 
experience as a teacher I never had a pupil whose 
conduct was more exemplary in every respect than 
Lucy Mansfield’s.” 

“ O, it isn’t that ! Cousin Lucy is as good as gold. 
Aunt Flora says she began life by being a good baby, 
and has been faultless ever since. I know there isn’t 
a more unselfish person in the world ; but then she is 
so awfully depressing. Her own mother says it of 
her; so you see I am not the only one who thinks so. 
She drives Aunt Flora nearly wild by fears about her 
health. Now, Aunt Flora has such a contempt for 
women who keep their bedrooms smelling like apoth- 


OLD MRS. GUMMIDGE. 


221 


ecaries’ shops, and are in the habit of calling in the 
doctor every day, that she herself goes to the other 
extreme — won’t keep an ounce of medicine in the 
house, and tells the doctor she is doing her little best 
to starve him. She is in fairly good health, but 
Cousin Lucy will have it that her mother is an invalid. 
‘ Mother, you know we are not a long-lived family,’ 
she will say, 4 and you have the very look in your eyes 
that Aunt Ilettie had just before she was taken with 
her last illness. O, mother, if you don’t take advice 
from the doctor without delay it may soon be too 
late ! Mother you shouldn’t do this, you shouldn’t 
eat that. Remember the state of your health.’ When 
she isn’t taken up with Aunt Flora's health she is 
worrying herself and every body around her about 
something else. If the neighbors don’t come to visit 
them she is sure they have taken offense about some- 
thing; if they do come she is sure they don’t enjoy 
the visit. Poor me ! don’t I catch it when I am there ? 
She is at least ten years older than I am, but she 
‘ you-and-I’s ’ me just as though we were contempo- 
raries, and I hate to be 4 you-and-I’d ’ by any one. 
Cousin Lucy will say, ‘Ah, Sue, you and I were 
never made to be popular women ; we have neither 
the manners nor the appearance for attracting love and 
admiration ;’ or, ‘ Sue, you and I might be sisters in- 
stead of cousins, we are so much alike, both in dispo- 
sition and person.’ This to me, mind you, after she 


222 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


lias been disparaging herself like any thing; and when 
Cousin Lucy runs herself down she really means it ; 
Cousin Henry says he has tested that by agreeing 
with her. Aunt Flora, on one occasion, had the kind- 
ness to come to my relief when Cousin Lucy was 
4 you-and-F-ing me as usual, telling her plainly that 
she might make herself more agreeable if she were to 
try ; and Cousin Lucy replied that she had no doubt 
she was an unpleasant companion, but she was not so 
intentionally — it was only her craving for sympathy 
that made her speak to me as she did ; she thought I 
could understand her, being so much like her in tem- 
perament.” 

“In short, your Cousin Lucy has the dyspepsia,” 
observed Mol lie Archer. 

“Ho,” returned Sue, “she hasn’t even that excuse. 
She is not very strong ; but her digestion is all right, 
and I have heard her admit that she never has any aches 
and pains. Aunt Flora says, in excuse for her, that 
persons weak in body are easily depressed in spirits. 
I think if I had been her mother I should have fed 
her on oat-meal and every thing else that is strength- 
ening (on my own account as well as hers), from her 
babyhood up. How, if she were of my own age you 
may be sure I’d cheer her up a bit (like Sairey Gamp) 
by calling her names ; but as it is I have to treat her 
respectfully, never calling her any thing worse than 
4 Old Mrs. Gummidge,’ a name Aunt Flora gave her 


OLD MRS. GUMMIDGE. 


223 


when she was in one of her worst fits of the bines. 
Aunt Flora says if Lucy were a woman of ordinary 
cheerfulness her poor mother would not be obliged 
to keep a salaried companion; but nobody could live 
alone in the house with Cousin Lucy for any length 
of time without going crazy. Now, Mrs. Young, 
Aunt Flora’s companion, has seen as much sorrow as 
any woman living. She was taken from an orphan 
asylum only to be ill-treated by the woman who 
adopted her ; forced into marriage, when only fifteen, 
with a drunken wretch who used to beat her ; she lost 
all her children when they were little, and was finally 
left a widow without a penny ; and yet she is as se- 
rene and cheerful as possible. Aunt Flora delights 
in bringing her up to Cousin Lucy as a good example, 
but it is of no use ; it never is of use to bring up good 
examples — as least that is my experience.” 

“ I know what is the matter with your cousin ! ” 
exclaimed Maggie Yates. “ She was crossed in love 
in her youth.” 

“ Nothing of the kind,” returned Sue. “She never 
cared for gentlemen’s attention, so Aunt Flora says. 
If men treated her with ordinary politeness, she 
thought it was on account of her money, and snubbed 
them to such an extent that they soon left her alone.” 

“Why doesn’t her mother take her traveling?” 
asked Laura Lamar. “ That .might improve her 
spirits.” 


224 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


“Only makes them worse,” replied Sue, shaking 
her head. “ If she is on a steam -boat she is miserable 
because she is sure the boiler is about to burst; on the 
train she knows there is going to be a collision and 
Aunt Flora and Cousin Henry will be among the 
killed — she doesn’t think of herself ; in hotels she is 
afraid of fire. In short, she always sees the dark side 
of every thing, and insists that there is no other side 
to be seen.” 

“ She would be happier married,” observed Laura, 
oracularly. 

“ I pity her husband ! ” said Sue. “ She would al- 
ways be pitying him for marrying such an unlovable 
creature as herself and asking him if he were not 
longing to be free again.” 

“ She would be more comfortable and contented as 
a widow,” said Mollie, “for then she could be just as 
miserable as she liked, and the rest of you would have 
to excuse her (as Peggoty did the other Mrs. Gum- 
midge) because she was thinking of the old un.” 


CONSIDERATION. 


225 


XLII. 

CONSIDERATION. 

“Consider, 0, cow, consider.”— Mother Goose. 

“I do wish,” exclaimed Maggie Yates, “that some 
girls in this school could remember that there are 
other people in the world besides themselves, and 
that those other people have their own affairs to 
attend to ! I wished to write a composition this 
morning, and I told every body so, but not one 
minute would they give me to write it in. I had just 
finished putting my corner of the room in apple-pie 
order, and was opening my desk, when in came Ellen 
Gordon for me to look at her new dress and see if 
there were any alterations needed. 1 1 am too busy to 
look up,’ said I. c O, I sha’n’t keep you a minute,’ 
said she ; and then she must have kept me at least 
twenty. I am dreadfully sorry she has so much re- 
spect for my taste in dress, and I wish I were like 
Dora. When I suggested to Ellen that she ought to 
ask Dora about her dress, instead of running around 
all over the school, she curled her lips and said she 
would as soon ask a man.” 

“ Don’t wish you were like Dora if you would 

escape botheration,” observed Sue Mansfield. “ Dora 
15 


226 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


is tlie most imposed upon girl in this school. I 
don’t believe she is ever allowed to have any time 
for herself. Why, I have known that girl to go into 

X for the express purpose of buying something 

and come away without it because her time was all 
taken up with making purchases for other people.” 

“ That reminds me of my Cousin Helen T ’s ex- 

perience in Hew York,” said Mollie Archer. a She 
is one of the unselfish sort, like Dora, and you may 
be sure her friends have tried their best to kill her. 
For a long time she spent her days in running from 
shop to shop, one day buying something for a cousin 
in Maine and the next exchanging something for a 
school friend in Hebraska. She was so completely 
worn out by this kind of work that her husband 
finally laid his commands on her never to enter a shop 
again unless it were to make a purchase for herself 
that she could not possibly do without any longer. 
How, when her numerous friends write to her on 
the shopping subject she sends them the address of 
some professional purchaser. When she first went to 

Hew York she kept house, but Mr. T soon found 

that that wouldn’t begin to do, as he couldn’t afford 
to keep a free hotel. Their house was always crowded 
with friends from the country, and as they are not at 
all rich, and keep only one servant, Cousin Helen 

was worked to death. Mr. T says that, in order to 

avoid coming to the almshouse, they went to board- 


CONSIDERATION. 


227 


ing, and then only a very small proportion of the 
hosts of visitors who used to get free board and lodg- 
ing at their home ever came to call on them in their 
boarding-house.” 

“ I have had some experience of that kind,” ob- 
served Kate Drury. “ Not of being worked to 
death, as we keep several servants, but of having 
people make a convenience of our house when they 
visit the town where we live. They come and put 
up with us, and then keep just what hours they 
like, making us wait breakfast and dinner for them 
till even mamma’s patience is sometimes nearly 
exhausted, and then staying out till all hours of the 
night and expecting some one to sit up for them. 
Mamma calls it want of consideration, but, to save 
my life, I can’t see the difference between that and 
selfishness.” 

u The difference is,” said Mrs. Duval, “ that incon- 
siderate people act selfishly from thoughtlessness, 
while selfish people are deliberately regardless of the 
comfort of others, and will not be taught to have a 
care for any one but themselves. It is one of the 
most important duties of a mother to point out to 
her inconsiderate children (for most children are in- 
considerate) the many ways in which they are apt to 
inconvenience those around them, and teach them 
that others must be thought of as well as themselves. 
One must keep one’s eyes and ears well open to go 


228 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


through life without very often unintentionally mak- 
ing a nuisance of one’s self.” 

“It is so easy to think of one’s self and forget 
others ! ” sighed Maggie, returning to her grievance. 
“ Ellen Gordon had hardly gone out of my room this 
morning when my new room-mate had a letter given 
her by the monitress, every word of which she in- 
sisted on reading to me, though I didn’t know the 
writer nor a single person mentioned in it. It was 
three sheets crossed, so you can just imagine what a 
time I was sitting, pen in hand, while she was work- 
ing her way through it, I all the while just crazy to 
get at my composition, in order to finish it this morn- 
ing, as I was going to X in the afternoon. Well, # 

when the letter- reading was finally over here caina 
Hattie Hammond, and I must put down every thing 
and teach her to make tatting. I said I was too 
busy, but she insisted that she could learn it in just 
one minute, so I stopped and bothered with her for 
at least half an hour.” 

“ I hope,” observed Sue, “ that when yon finally 
did begin your composition you took ‘ Considera- 
tion ’ for your subject.” 

“ No, I didn’t,” replied Maggie. “ I wrote on 
i Breathings of Spring.’ ” 

“ The poor child doesn’t know what consideration 
is,” said Mollie, “ as nobody shows any for her.” 

“ One way in which people (I mean my neighbors 


CONSIDERATION. 


229 


at home) show want of consideration for me,” ob- 
served Kate, “ is not taking the trouble to remember 
how excessively near-sighted I am. If I am walking 
with them they are always showing me something 
across the street, which of course I can’t see, and 
when I tell them so they will say, ‘ 0, I forgot you 
were near-sighted,’ and five minutes afterward will 
point out something two blocks away. If I pass 
them on the street without recognizing them they 
will take offense, just as if I could see like other 
people.” 

“ Then,” said Mollie, “ I hope the thought comes 
into your head that they are very silly and inconsid- 
erate, because, if it does, of course you are bound to 
speak it.” 

“Yes,” added Laura Lamar, “thoughtless people 
need a good deal of candid talk to ‘ larn ’em sense ’ 
(as Maum Hagar at home would say), and Kate is 
just the girl to talk it for them.” 


230 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


XLIII. 

A FEMALE HUMBUG-. 

“ In my soul I loathe 
All affectation. ’Tis my perfect scorn : 

Object of my implacable disgust.” — C owper. 

“Well,” exclaimed Laura Lamar, “I have 
heard of people being blinded by affection, but I 
never came into contact with such a case of it before. 
1 asked Dora Gordon, as I passed her in the hall just 
now, how Ellen was this evening, and she replied 
that she was much better. Then I said it was 
something unusual for a school-girl to have rheuma- 
tism, and she informed me that Ellen was quite sub- 
ject to it, and had brought on this last attack by going 
out without overshoes after the rain yesterday. ‘It 
was just like Ellen,’ said Dora. ‘ The child never 
thinks of herself, and has often made herself ill by 
not taking proper precautions.’ ” 

“Never thinks of herself! Well, that is a good 
one!” exclaimed Hattie Hammond. “I wonder 
whom Ellen does think of, if not herself.” 

“She doesn’t think of Dora, that is evident,” ob- 
served Miss Bond. “ I don’t believe poor Dora slept 
an hour last night for jumping up to wait on Ellen, 


A FEMALE HUMBUG. 


231 


and all because Ellen does not clioose to make her 
feet look clumsy by wearing overshoes.” 

“ But it isn’t fair to Ellen to visit Dora’s foolish- 
ness on her,” said Mollie Archer. “ What I mean is 
I never heard Ellen claim to be unselfish ; it is only 
Dora who makes such' a ridiculous claim for her. If 
Ellen made it for herself she would be too great a 
humbug to live.” 

“I am not so sure of that,” rejoined Miss Bond. 
“ I know a humbug who has lived as long as I have, 
and is likely to see her threescore years and ten. Our 
homes are in the same neighborhood, so I have known 
her all my life. I shall never forget her talk at a 
little sociable at our house one evening, when she 
came gushing at me with, 4 What do you think, Rosie 
Bond ? I have had such an experience since I saw 
you last ! Mamma went off to spend a week with 
Aunt Hester, and left little me in charge of our big 
house. Just think of that, a child like myself! ’ 

“ ‘ Why, you are older than I am,’ said I, 4 and I 
am no child. I was seventeen my last birthday. But 
how did you manage? ’ 

“ ‘ Well, I stayed at home and cried my eyes out 
for two days, and the third day I followed her.’ 

“ ‘What did you do with the keys?’ asked I. 

O, I didn’t care what became of the keys. I 
was thinking of mamma. And wasn’t she terrible? 
When I arrived at Aunt Hester’s she wasn’t glad to 


232 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


see her own daughter — said I ought to have stayed 
at home and taken care of papa and the children. 
Just as if I could have borne to be separated from 
her any longer ! ’ 

“ 4 And did you and she finish the week at your 
Aunt Hester’s ? ’ asked I. 

‘“I did. Mamma went home the next day. She 
said there must be some one there to look after the 
servants. I stayed two weeks, and had the loveliest 
time imaginable, attended two picnics, and saw ever 
so much company.’ 

44 4 Had a lovely time without your mamma ? ’ ex- 
claimed I. 4 How could that be possible ? ’ 

44 For this the humbug had no answer readj T , so she 
soon slipped avray to gush in some other company. 

44 4 She seems to be an affectionate child,’ I heard 
one of our visitors remark. 

44 4 You mean an affected woman,’ was the reply. 
4 She is one of the most selfish creatures alive, or she 
would have allowed her poor mother to enjoy a little 
rest and recreation.’ 

44 Several years afterward I encountered the humbug 
again. He was then married, and had a pair of twins, 
obstreperous boys about two years old. 4 1 love 
them too well to manage them,’ said she ; but some 
of the neighbors said she loved herself too well to 
take the trouble. Every body pitied her poor sister, 
who had six children of her own, when they learned 


A FEMALE HUMBUG. 


233 


that those dreadful twins were to be added to her 
family. Their father was in such bad health that 
the doctor said he must go to the White Sulphur 
Springs, and the humbug insisted on accompanying 
him, maintaining that her first duty was to her hus- 
band. 

“ ‘ 1 ’ll do my best for the twins,’ remarked their 
aunt to me ; 4 but I must say I think a mother’s first 
duty is to those helpless little beings who are so de- 
pendent on her.’ 

“ 4 Yes,’ added the twins’ uncle by marriage ; ‘es- 
pecially after she has spoiled them to such an extent 
that they have become a perfect nuisance. There 
ought to be a public asylum built for the children of 
such mothers.’ 

“ ‘ O, duty, what selfishness is indulged in in thy 
name ! ’ observed the last speaker’s unmarried sister. 
‘ I wish my duty to my husband (supposing I had 
one) would take me to the White Sulphur Springs, 

with as many handsome dresses as Mrs. P has laid 

in for the occasion.’ 

“ The next time I saw the humbug she had been a 
widow for nearly a year, and was again contemplat- 
ing matrimony. ‘Not on my own account!’ ex- 
claimed she, when telling me of it. ‘ My heart is in 
the grave with my dead husband, but I live now only 
for my children, and they require a father’s care.’ 

“ ‘ The man she is going to marry is too old to take 


234 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


care of himself, not to say those uproarious boys of 
hers,’ said her sister’s husband to me afterward, 4 so 
that pretext is all bosh; but he is worth nearly a 
million dollars, and is not likely to live much longer, 
as he is considerably over seventy, and has already 
had one stroke of paralysis. She is now in comfort- 
able circumstances, but she wishes to be wealthy, and 
you know she is a woman who will have her wish or 
die.’ ” 

“ Did she marry the old man ? ” asked Mollie. 

“ Yes; and I am happy to say lie is living still, at 
the age of ninety, and is likely to last ten years 
longer. The father’s care he gave her boys was to 
turn them both Out of doors a short time after he 
married their ‘self-sacrificing mamma. This, how- 
ever, was a good thing for them, as their aunt gave 
them a home, and has succeeded wonderfully well in 
taming them down. The humbug’s first duty doesn’t 
seem to be to her husband nowadays, as she has sev- 
eral times left him, and not returned till friends have 
patched up a truce between them. She can afford to 
out-dress every other woman in the country, though, 
and this is a consolation in the midst of her marital 
miseries, though (as great a humbug as ever) she de- 
clares that the black garb of a nun would be more to 
her own taste than any thing else, and she dresses 
only to please her husband.” 


THE WEAKER SISTERS. 


235 


XLIV. 

THE WEAKER SISTERS. 

“Be to her virtues very kind; 

Be to her faults a little blind.” — P rior. 

“ Mollie, what do yon find to talk to Fanny Tem- 
pleton about ? ” asked Maggie Yates. “ I know it lias 
raised your spirits to leave Mrs. Southgate’s table and 
go over to Miss Bond’s ; and nobody can blame you 
for being glad to get away from Amelia and Jennie 
Dixon; but how you and Fanny manage to keep up 
such a flow of conversation I cannot imagine. To 
me the girl never seems to have two ideas in her 
head.” 

“ Fanny rests me,” replied Mollie. “ There is such 
a wear and tear of my brain during school-hours that 
I don’t feel equal to talking to an intelligent girl at 
meal-times. If you notice, I seldom have a word to 
say to Bertha Holt, who sits on the other side of me. 
When I am used up with hard study and bother- 
ing recitations I hate girls with ideas. It was the 
same when I was going to day-school. When I went 
home in the afternoon I used to take the baby and 
talk baby-talk the rest, of the day. It was soothing 
after all I had gone through.” 


236 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL . 


“ Fanny isn’t much better than a baby,” observed 
Laura Lamar. “ She is so pretty that it is a pleasure 
just to sit and look at her; but she has to have so 
many things explained to her after one has said them 
that it is tiresome to talk to her.” 

“ Why don’t you adapt yourself to her in the first 
place?” asked Mollie, “always bearing it in mind 
that she isn’t Belle.” 

“ It is very easy to bear that in mind ! ” returned 
Laura. “ Belle is too stuck-up for any thing, while 
Fanny makes no more pretension than little Adele 
Duval would. Of the two give me Fanny by all 
means ! ” 

“Give her to me, too,” said Sue Mansfield. “I 
never know where I shall find Belle. Sometimes she 
is as friendly with me as possible, and then the very 
next time I meet her she 4 Miss Mansfields ’ me, and 
makes me think of Mrs. Squeers’s 4 turned-up nosed 
peacock.’ I got into Belle’s good graces the first day 
I ever had any conversation with her by speaking of 
my uncle, who was a United States senator, but some- 
times she seems to regard me as 4 a degenerate scion 
of a noble race.’ Now, Fanny I always find just 
where I left her; I’ll say that for the child, if she is 
a simpleton.” 

“I like simpletons,” rejoined Mollie; “they are 
so good-tempered. I never, in all my acquaintance 
with her, knew Fanny to take offense — that is, lasting 


THE WEAKER SISTERS. 


287 


offense — at any thing, and she has had some dread- 
fully unkind speeches made to her, from time to 
time, by girls who, as I take care to tell them, are 
envious of her beauty. What is it to them, I’d like 
to know, if she is not bright enough to learn any- 
thing ? They don’t pay her school bills.” 

“Fanny sometimes makes me think,” remarked 
Sue, “of what Thackeray says when one of his he- 
roines is called stupid : 4 It is as much as we can ex- 
pect of some women to look pretty. If they succeed 
well in doing this, we ought to be satisfied. We do 
not ask a rose to sing.’ ” 

“ Fanny certainly does succeed admirably well in 
looking pretty,” observed Mollie, “ as well as any one 
I ever knew ; and, besides this, she is a great deal bet- 
ter-humored than most other girls. I don’t remem- 
ber ever to have seen her in a snapping mood. And 
then if she never says any thing bright, she never 
says any thing disagreeable, and that can be said of 
very few other girls. I know she is dull, but I prefer 
dull people to sharp ones any day.” 

“But,” complained Maggie, “she so often laughs 
when other people do, and then has to have the joke 
explained to her afterward.” 

“ Well, that is better,” returned Mollie, “than to 
see the point for one’s self and not laugh just because 
one doesn’t choose to be good company. In some 
book I have read there is a comparison made between 


238 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


cranky geniuses and nice commonplace people, and 
the author says that exchanging the former for the 
latter is like letting go a frisky, troublesome squirrel, 
and taking up a quiet little kitten to pet. I, for one, 
prefer kittens.” 

“ So do I,” responded Laura Lamar, “ especially if 
they are tortoise-shell, and I think Fanny may be 
compared to a tortoise-shell, she is something so very 
much above the common in the matter of looks.” 

“Ellen Gordon says,” observed Maggie Yates, 
“that Fanny laughs at what she doesn’t understand 
just to show off her pretty white teeth.” 

“Ellen judges her by herself,” said Laura Lamar. 
“ She is always trying to show off, and it is so sill- in 
her that it makes me sick.” 

“ I don’t mind it,” observed Mollie. “ I think I 
have more charity for what Miss Bond calls ‘the 
weaker sisters ’ than — ” 

“ What are you saying about Miss Bond ? ” inter- 
rupted that lady, who had come in just in time to 
hear her name. 

“ I w T as quoting your expression, ‘ the w r eaker sis- 
ters,’ ” returned Mollie, “ and saying 1 liked them.” 

“You are all weak enough, dear knows ! ” observed 
Miss Bond ; “ so you ought to sympathize with one 
another.” 

“You don’t mean to say,” exclaimed Laura Lamar, 
“ that w r e are all as stupid at the blackboard as Fanny 


THE WEAKER SISTERS. 


239 


Templeton ! Why, she cannot do any thing with 
fractions to save her life.” 

“ She can do as much with them as you can with 
logarithms, I’ll venture to say ; but Mr. Richards, to 
whom logarithms are A, B, C, never shrugs his shoul- 
ders or looks impatient when you make blunders in 
his classes.” 

u And Mr. Richards likes Fanny better than he 
does any of the rest of us,” observed Sue. “ I sup- 
pose we are all such simpletons in his eyes that he 
cannot see much difference among us in the matter 
of intellect ; and instead of scolding he only smiles at 
the sight of Ellen Gordon craning her neck to catch 
a glimpse of herself in the laboratory mirror, when 
she ought to be paying attention to what he is 
saying.” 

“ He sets a very good example of forbearance to- 
ward dullness and vanity,” said Miss Bond ; “ and it 
would be well for all of yon girls to follow it,” 


240 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


XL V. 

A SCION OF NOBILITY. 

“ Hey-day, what a sweep of vanity comes this way I ” 

— Shakespeare. 

“ Dear me ! ” sighed Ellen Gordon, “ what a pleas- 
ure it will be to drink out of decent china once 
more ! The china here is as thick as delf, and I 
think it’s a shame to make girls use it who are accus- 
tomed to something better. At home our cups are 
as thin as egg-shells. "What are you smiling at, Mol- 
lie Archer ? ” 

“ When you begin talking about ‘ home’ you make 
me think of Martha Gant, that is all,” replied 
Mollie. 

“ O, that Martha Gant ! ” exclaimed Laura Lamar. 
“ When she begins about ‘’ome’ isn’t she absolutely 
ridiculous ? I’d like to go into the nursery some- 
times to play with Adele and Tlieo, but Martha makes 
herself too numerous. There goes a penny for slang ! 
Mrs. Duval didn’t hear me, but I’ll be honorable 
enough to pay my fine, anyway.” 

“ The mention of Martha is enough to provoke 
any one into using slang,” observed Sue Mansfield. 
“ Plain English cannot do justice to her. She came 


A SCION- OF NOBILITY. 


241 


into my room yesterday, when I was trying on my 
new dress, and put me out of all conceit with it by 
remarking that, although the fit was well enough, it 
was very carelessly finished off. Then she went on 
to inform me that a dress made by a good dress- 
maker at ’ome looked as well on one side as the other, 
and could be worn inside out just as well as not.” 

44 That wasn’t so bad as the way she talked about 
Adele,” returned Laura. 44 When she heard me say 
to Adele the other day that she was just the sweetest, 
darlingest child alive, she informed me that I ought 
to have seen the last baby she nursed before she left 
’ome. ‘Ah, that was a baby !’ said she. 4 You don’t 
have any such in this country ? ’ ” 

44 1 am afraid she will be the ruination of Adele’s 
li’s,” rejoined Sue. 44 Even Tlieo has been corrupted 
by her. One day, after hearing her go on for a 
while about the utter ’orribleness of this country and 
the vast superiority of ’ome, he gravely asked, 4 Mar- 
tha, which is the best place, ’ome or ’eaven ? ’ ” 

44 She is an ungrateful creature,” observed Mollie. 
44 Last Sunday I took care of Adele all the afternoon 

so she might go to X and hear an evangelist who 

had lately come from ’ome. When she returned she 
remarked to me that that was a sermon, the first she 
had heard that she considered one since she left ’ome. 
I immediately punished this insult to my country by 

making her confess that she could not repeat the text, 
16 


242 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


and, indeed, had not the slightest recollection of what 
the sermon was about ; and then she changed the 
subject by criticising the dresses of the ladies in 
church, informing me that ‘ our ladies at ’ome ’ always 
dressed in perfect taste at church and every-where 
else, but Americans dressed frightfully. As she had 
gone out that afternoon arrayed in a pink cashmere, 
with a great bunch of yellow tips in her hat, I won. 
dered if her apparel was to be taken as a specimen of 
English taste in dress/’ 

“ I think,” said Sue, “ that every American family 
afflicted with Anglomania ought to have a Martha 
Gant among them. That would cure the disease if 
any tiling could.” 

“ Martha has her uses,” rejoined Mollie. “ One 
day, not long ago, she heard Belle Templeton going 
on about old families and blue blood, whereupon she 
coolly informed the young lady that no American 
could pretend to any thing of that kind. It was dif- 
ferent at ’ome ; she herself had noble blood in her 
veins, being descended from John of Gaunt, who 
was Marquis of Lancaster in the time of Queen Eliz- 
abeth. 1 Then how on earth did your ladyship’s li’s 
get to be so shaky \ ’ asked Belle, whereupon the rest 
of us laughed, and Martha flounced out of the room 
muttering something about ‘ those vulgar Amer- 
icans.’ ” 

“ She was quite as hard on Amelia Dixon,” said 


A SCION OF NOBILITY. 


243 


Laura, “ when she heard her speak of her father’s 
princely income from his oil-wells. Martha couldn’t 
stand this, and spoke np directly, scouting the idea of 
any American having a princely income. 1 It sounds 
well enough in your American dollars,’ she admitted, 
‘ but put it in pounds, as we do at ’ome, and it would 
be nothing more than what a flourishing ’aberdasher 
would make at ’is trade in the course of the year.’ 
Then she went on to say that our men in office re- 
ceived beggarly salaries, and many a groom at ’ome 
was better paid than some of our best preachers.” 

“ Well, if our preachers cannot preach what she 
considers sermons of course they ought not to receive 
large salaries,” observed Mollie. “Mrs. Duval” (to 
that lady, who had just entered), “ for once we are 
not speaking of the Misses Dixon.” 

“ Then whom are you criticising ? ” asked Mrs. 
Duval. 

“We are expressing our opinion of Martha Gant, 
of the house of Lancaster.” 

“ Then I hope you are saying that she is a good, 
kind nurse, for that is only her due. Adele is much 
fonder of her than she was of her former nurse.” 

“ Then Adele has a wretchedly depraved taste,” 
remarked Sue. “ Mrs. Duval, I don’t see how you 
can keep that Martha Gant.” 

“Why?” asked Mrs. Duval, startled. “ Have you 
ever caught her treating the children unkindly ? ” 


244 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


“ O, dear, no ! ” returned Sue. “ She seems to have 
a very good temper. I was thinking of her airs and 
graces and her impertinent talk about Americans.” 

“ You young Americans encourage her imperti- 
nence by letting her talk to you,” said Mrs. Duval. 
u She was not accustomed* to such treatment from her 
betters before she came here, and naturally she pre- 
sumes on it. I did not engage her as a model of 
good-breeding for the school. She was recommended 
to me as a good nurse, and I shall keep her just as 
long as she is kind to my baby. In bragging about 
her own country and running down yours she is only 
true to her instincts as cockney-English, and I hope 
the annoyance given you by the foolish talk of an ig- 
norant servant-girl may impress it upon you all that 
an assumption of superiority is the most offensive 
form of ill-breeding.” 


DEFERENCE. 


245 


XLYI. 

DEFERENCE. 

“‘Iam ready to find the weather warm or cold, just as your lord- 
ship pleases,’ said Harry, politely.” — Holiday House. 

“ I know it is silly to let one’s self be bothered by 
what are called trifles,” observed Sue Mansfield ; “ but 
if there is one word that makes me sicker than all 
others it is the word 4 decidedly.’ I have heard Hat- 
tie Hammond use it till, like Mr. Toots, ‘ I could 
glide into the quiet tomb with ease and smoothness.’ 
Hattie seems to think that when she has decided a 
matter no one else need say a word.” 

“ Hattie is decidedly prononcee” responded Mollie 
Archer. “ She is infallible, like the pope, and this 
prevents her listening to what any one else has to say 
after she has formed an opinion. She has decided, 
for instance, that Mr. Berger has a provincial accent, 
and so it is of no use for me to tell her that, in my 
humble opinion, his French is the pure Parisian arti- 
cle. It is true Miss Bond agrees with me, and Miss 
Bond spent several years at a pension in Paris, while 
Hattie never left home until she came here. Mr. 
Berger does not speak French like the teacher Hattie 
had at home (who may have been ‘ a French lady 


246 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


from Cork’), and so Mr. Berger’s French is provin- 
cial — as if Dr. Duval, who studied medicine in Paris, 
would engage a teacher with a provincial accent ! ” 

“ She is as hard as a rock,” sighed Sue, “ and one 
might labor with her an age (supposing one were silly 
enough to take the trouble) without her yielding an 
inch. Now, some persons will pretend to give way 
just for peace’ sake, and others will hold their tongues 
(so Mrs. Duval says) because it is only polite to admit 
tacitly that others may think differently from ourselves 
and still not be in the wrong ; but Hattie is not to be 
either convinced or silenced.” 

“ It seems to me,” said Mollie, “ that it shows a 
great deal of vanity in people to be so grounded in 
their own opinions that they cannot listen civilly to 
those of other people. Now, if I heard any one as- 
serting that, in her opinion, black was white, I think 
I’d have the manners to hold my tongue while she 
was giving her reasons for such a belief.” 

“ I am sure Hattie would think that a sin,” returned 
Sue. “ She wouldn’t let such a person open her 
mouth before she would be at her with, e You are 
mistaken. I know I am right in this matter, and 
you might as well keep still. If you talk you will 
only talk nonsense.’ When I roomed with her she 
was so awfully decided about every thing that it was 
only to tease her that I ever entered into argument, 
knowing very well that she could never be convinced. 


DEFERENCE. 


247 


She would insist that lessons could be learned only in 
such a way, and the room could not be ventilated 
properly unless the windows were opened to j ust such 
an extent ; and, as she knew a great deal better than 
any one else, it was a waste of breath for her room- 
mates to dispute what she said. She not only wouldn’t 
be convinced, but she scorned to listen to any thing 
that might be said on the other side of any question 
that she had decided. I used to remind her that this 
was a land of liberty and we all had the right to ex- 
press our opinions, though she might not have sense 
enough to be convinced by what we said. She is un- 
like the judge I have heard papa speak of, who used 
to say on the bench, 4 1 have made up my mind, and 
now I will listen to reason.’ She makes up her mind 
and asserts her opinions, and then won’t listen to any 
thing.” 

“ So she doesn’t give you the right of assertion,” 
observed Mollie. 

“ That she doesn’t ! She is so overwhelmingly pos- 
itive about every tiling that when she speaks she 
seems to be laying down the law, and if you break 
it by arguing the matter your head will be taken off 
directly. It is nothing but rank blasphemy the way 
she goes on about doctrinal matters. If we do not 
think as she does there is no salvation for us, and we 
might as well give up trying to be good. I verily 
believe, if it were in her power, that girl would bring 


248 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


the Inquisition into fashion again and proselyte peo- 
ple with wheels and thumb-screws. She is the most 
bigoted creature alive.’’ 

“ Don’t excite yourself, Sue,” said Laura Lamar. 
“If she undertakes to burn you at the stake we’ll 
come to the rescue in a body.” 

“ There is no danger of her burning me,” returned 
Sue ; “ but if I had remained in the room with her she 
would have worried me to death, and that is almost 
as bad. What makes her particularly annoying is 
that she doesn’t confine herself to doctrine, but has 
decided opinions also on matters of personal religion. 
Carrie Westbrook remarked one day, after being lect- 
ured for breaking the Sabbath by writing a letter to 
her mother, that Hattie reminded her of the old 
Scotch woman who so disapproved of taking a walk 
on Sunday that, when some one brought up the argu- 
ment that our Saviour walked through the fields on 
the Sabbath day, she replied, ‘ And I never thocht the 
mair of him for it either.’ ” 

“ Did that quiet Ilattie ? ” asked Mollie. 

“Hot a bit of it! She went on till Carrie lost all 
patience and said to her, ‘How, Hattie, you have 
done your duty in preaching me a sermon ; if I don’t 
choose to profit by it for pity’s sake wash your hands 
of me and hold your tongue, as I’d like to finish my 
letter before tea.’ ” 

“ I think Hattie might have had some deference 


DEFERENCE . 


249 


for Carrie’s opinion,” observed Laura, “as Carrie 
was as old as the hills, and a minister’s daughter be- 
sides.” 

“ Hattie met her match in Annie Pinkham, when 
she was in our room,” Sue went on. “Annie, you 
know, used to tramp into X with Rachel regu- 

larly every Sunday to attend mass, and, coming back 
tired to death, she would lie abed and (as she said) 
meditate all the remainder of the day. When Hattie 
once undertook to lecture her for it she silenced her 
by saying, 4 Well, Hattie, being a Catholic, I cannot, 
in your opinion, go to heaven anyway, so why not let 
me take my ease in this world ? ’ ” 

“ Hattie has not an atom of respect for any one’s 
doxy but her own,” observed Mollie. “ It is well she 
never hears any doctrinal sermons in chapsl, for if she 
did I believe she would do nothing but shake her 
head at the theologue in the pulpit unless his opinions 
were the same as hers.” 

44 She is like 4 Old Poz ’ in the Parents’ Assistant, ” 
said Laura, 44 the magistrate who was so positive the 
poor boy had stolen the spoons that he wouldn’t 
listen to any one who thought otherwise.” 

44 4 Old Poz ’ was unlike Hattie at the last,” returned 
Mollie. 44 If you remember, when the real thief — his 
daughter’s magpie — was brought in, he became so 
ashamed of himself that he exclaimed, 4 1 never will 
be positive again — that’s poz ! ’ ” 


250 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


XLYIL 

MEANING ME. 

“ I believe they talked of me, for they laughed consumedly.” — F ar- 
QUHAR. 

“ Don’t say another word ! ” exclaimed Ellen Gor- 
don, angrily. “ I have my eyes and my ears, haven’t 
I ? Those girls were talking about me the whole 
time. Hattie said I might as well give up trying to 
speak in public, and Kate said I was so awkward — all 
elbows and such a stoop ; not voice enough for the 
room ; people who faced an audience only to make a 
spectacle of themselves ought to be told of it by their 
friends. They were discussing our May-day rehearsal, 
I know, for I am sure they kept looking at me. Kate 
is vexed, I suppose, because she wished to be the wood- 
nymph herself. These envious girls are the torment 
of my life.” 

“ O, hire a hall, Ellen ! ” said Laura Lamar, impa- 
tiently. 

“ Slang ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Southgate, who came in 
j ust in time to hear it. 

“ Well, I mean it, and I’m willing to put two 
pennies into the box,” returned Laura, the impenitent. 
“ Mrs. Southgate, you would sigh for a rest yourself 


MEANING ME 1 


25 1 


if you had been listening to Ellen. Nobody can con- 
vince her that Kate Drury and Hattie Hammond 
were not tearing her to pieces last evening at the 
sewing society meeting, just as if she were important 
enough to be talked about.” 

“ I am as important as other people, 1 thank you, 
madam ! ” said Ellen. u And I have as good ears as 
other people ; and I’d believe my ears sooner than I’d 
believe Laura Lamai;.” 

“ Why, how could those two girls be talking about 
you, Ellen,” asked Mrs. Southgate, “ when they were 
sitting one on each side of you at table ? ” 

“ O, it wasn’t then,” replied Ellen. “ It was after 
the cake and lemonade had been brought in, and they 
went off together to the sofa to take theirs. They said 
it was too crowded at the table for comfort, but they 
went off to talk about me ; that I know.” 

“ You. seem so well satisfied to think so,” observed 
Mrs. Southgate, “ that it is almost a pity to undeceive 
you ; but, if you remember, I was in that corner too.” 

“ Did you go across there to talk about Ellen ? ” 
asked Sue Mansfield. 

“No; I went to open the window and get a breath 
of fresh air, as the room was so close and warm. As 
I sat there I am sure I heard every word those two 
girls said. Hattie Hammond, who was absent from 
chapel last Sunday, asked Kate about the theological 
student who preached ; she is interested in him, it 


252 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


seems, because she knows his family, and has seen 
him at home. Kate, in her reply, spoke very dispar- 
agingly of him, finding great fault with his appearance 
and enunciation, and said nothing about the excellence 
of his sermon till I remarked to her that it was the 
best I had heard for months. I am sure neither of 
them once mentioned Ellen Gordon.” 

“ ‘ Parturiunt montes et nascitur ridiculus musf ” 
spouted Bertha Holt. 

“ Ellen, you don’t look so relieved as might be ex- 
pected,” said Maggie Yates. “ After all, you were 
not so important as you thought yourself.” 

“And you had your tantrum all for nothing,” added 
Laura ; “ and tantrums are very apt to produce 
wrinkles. If you wish to make a decent-looking 
wood-nymph you’ll have to keep in a good humor.” 

“ I shall never forget,” said Mollie Archer, “ how 
dreadfully vexed I was on one occasion, thinking two 
cousins of mine were complaining of me, when all the 
while they were speaking of the parrot. They had a 
way of calling me ‘ Polly,’ instead of Mollie, and so, 
when I heard them speaking of Polly’s bad temper and 
low expressions and untidy habits, I considered my- 
self dreadfully slandered, and went crying to mamma ; 
and it took a doll and a box of candy to soothe my 
wounded feelings. Apologies and explanations were 
not enough.” 

“ I have an experience that is just the opposite of 


MEANING ME. 


253 


yours,” observed Belle Templeton. “ ‘ Mamma,’ said 
I one day, ‘ yon may call me awkward if you like, 
but Aunt Sophia thinks I am graceful. I heard her 
tell you so this morning.’ 

“ 4 Did you ? ’ asked mamma. 

Yes,’ replied I; ‘and she said I had beautiful 
eyes, and was very neat and nice in my habits.’ 

“‘Why, you little goosie!’ said mamma. ‘She 
was speaking of your Cousin Lou’s Japanese spaniel 
that is named Belle just like you.’ ” 

“ That reminds me of a young girl I used to know,” 
said Mrs. Southgate, “a girl who was always having 
her sensibilities wounded by thinking people meant 
her. If she heard a laugh without knowing the cause 
of it she was sure it 'was at her expense. If there 
was any whispering, it was about her; if any one was 
criticised and she didn’t catcli the name, she was the 
one. Her father, on one occasion, was rebuking her 
in my presence for being so outrageously sensitive, 
and he remarked to her that she must be a listener, 
as she never seemed to hear any good of herself. 

“‘You are mistaken there, papa,’ said she, with a 
simper. ‘ 1 sometimes do hear complimentary remarks 
made about myself without going out of my way to 
listen to them. This very morning, as I was going 
with Aunt Matilda to carry flowers to the hospital, she 
left me in front of Mr. Grady’s garden while she 
went across the street to speak to Mrs. Howard. Mr. 


254 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


Grady and his sister were in the garden, tying up 
honeysuckle vines, and as I stood there I heard my 
name spoken. Without trying to overhear any thing 
more (for that I should scorn to do) I caught the 
next words — “ Such pure white and such vivid red” — 
“ never saw any thing like it before ” — “ wonder where 
she got it.” JSow, I know I have a good complexion, 
and walking in the open air always brings out my 
color.’ 

“ ‘ Poor child ! ’ said her mother, laughing. ‘ It is 
a pity to destroy such a pleasant delusion, but I have 
just had a note from Miss Grady, asking where I got 
my York-and-Lancaster roses, as her brother wished 
to get some from the same nursery. “ He saw Fanny 
w T itli a bouquet of them this morning,” she wrote, 
“ and fell quite in love with them on account of the 
colors being so strongly contrasted.” ’ 

“‘Well,’ said Fanny’s father good-naturedly, seem- 
ing to pity her mortification, ‘ you have a good red- 
and-white complexion ; there is no question about 
that; and if you sometimes make mistakes in over- 
hearing complimentary speeches probably you make 
a great many more in listening to the other kind.’ ” 


DOLLARS AND CENTS. 


255 


XLYIII. 

DOLLAKS AND CENTS. 

“Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure nineteen 
pounds eight and sixpence ; result, happiness. Annual income twenty 
pounds, annual expenditure twenty pounds eight and sixpence ; result, 
misery.” — David Copperfield. 

“I’m dead broke,” said Laura Lamar, “and if that 
is slang I cannot pay the fine, as I haven’t a penny in 
my purse, and sha’n’t have till next week. I can’t 
think how it is, but I never seem to buy any thing, 
and yet my pocket-money slips away somehow. I 
have an allowance of five dollars a month, and some- 
times I can make it last three weeks, but never four.” 

“You ought to be treated like the Primrose girls 
in the Vicar of Wakefield , ” observed Mollie 
Archer. “Each of them had a pound in her purse 
for gentility’s sake, but she had strict orders never 
to change it.” 

“Yes,” sighed Laura, “ changing a five-dollar bill 
is what ruins it. After that is done my purse seems 
bewitched, and half-dollars dwindle into quarters, and 
quarters into dimes before I know it.” 

“You, yourself, are the witch that brings about the 
mischief,” said Miss Bond. “ When you went into 
X with me last Saturday I know you had five 


256 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


dollars with you when we started, because you ashed 
me, in the carriage, if I could change it. When we 
were coming back you were penniless and I had to 
pay car-fare for you. What you had to show for your 
money was a pair of gloves that were too small for 
you. You had bought some stereoscope pictures, I 
think, but had forgotten where you left them.” 

“ Yes,” said Laura, “ those pictures were fifty cents ; 
I think I must have left them at the dress-makers.” 

“ Have you a stereoscope ? ” asked Kate Drury. 

“Ko ; but I may have one at some future time. It 
was at the dress-maker’s that I threw away the po- 
made that claimed to be scented with night-blooming 
cereus, but, when I opened it, smelt only of rank lard 
— that was fifty cents. Then there was sixty cents 
for ice-cream.” 

“ Why, you gormandizer ! ” exclaimed Maggie 
Yates ; “ did you eat sixty cents’ worth of ice-cream ? ” 

“I treated Ellen Gordon, who was with me, and 
each of us had two saucers ; and we both felt sick 
afterward. I believe the cream was poisoned.” 

“ Every thing is poison if you eat too much of it,” 
said Miss Bond. 

“ It was a day of misfortunes,” sighed Laura. “ I let 
fall a bottle of cologne on the pavement, and broke 
it ; that was seventy-five cents ; and then there was 
fifty cents for a novel that I left in the ice-cream 
saloon.” 


DOLLARS AND CENTS. 


257 


“ "Why didn’t you go back for it ? ” asked Hattie 
Hammond. 

“ I left it there on purpose, because, on glancing 
through it, I saw it wouldn’t do to read. I had never 
heard of “ Ouida ” before, and as the book-store clerk 
told me that one of hers was the best-selling novel of 
the season I thought it must be good. I discovered 
my mistake when Ellen was finishing her second saucer 
of ice-cream, and then I hid the book under the table 
so it wouldn’t be found till I was gone. From the 
ice-cream saloon we went to the dime museum, and 
that was twenty cents more thrown away, as the wild 
man of Mozambique was too ill to be exhibited and 
the fat woman was a fraud ; not a bit fatter than 
Maum Hagar at home.” 

“ So your money was thrown away, every cent of 
it,” observed Kate Drury. 

“Hot every cent,” returned Laura; “because I 
gave ten cents to a poor woman whose baby was sick, 
and who hadn’t a penny to buy a roll with.” 

“ If that is a consolation to you,” said Miss Bond, 
“it seems almost unkind to tell you that, having my 
suspicions of your beggar-woman, I followed her 
around the corner and saw her make her way into a 
grog-shop. If she spent the night in a police-station 
your ten cents were partly to blame for it.” 

“ My allowance is the same as Laura’s, five dollars 

a month,” remarked Hattie Hammond, “and I’d be 
17 


258 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


ashamed of myself if I did not have something left at 
the end of the time. I keep an account-book, and 
put down every penny that I spend.” 

“ I keep an account-book, too,” said Laura, u but I 
cannot remember to make these little bits of entries. 
A dollar, now, is worth putting down.” 

44 A dollar is made up of pennies,” observed Miss 
Bond, 44 so it is foolish of you to speak as you some- 
times do of dirty pennies lumbering up your purse.” 

u Laura hasn’t a proper respect for filthy lucre,” 
said Mollie Archer. 

44 I believe that is the reason she so often disgraces 
the school by using slang,” observed Sue Mansfield. 
u It is to get rid of her pennies. She forgets that 
many a little makes a mickle.” 

“ I wish you girls would stop throwing stones at 
me,” said Laura, pettishly. 44 1 mean Sue and Mollie 
now. Hattie and Kate are such misers that they 
have a right to talk, but Sue spends a fortune in fruit 
and candy, and I have heard Mollie admit that she is 
sometimes in debt at the end of the month, although 
just yesterday she had the impudence to compare 
herself to that tiresome old wise man of Greece — I 
forget which of the seven it was — who went some- 
where or other and said, 4 How many things there are 
here that I don’t w T ant.’ ” 

44 Yes,” returned Mollie; 44 1 was so deep in debt 
last month that it took half of this month’s allowance 


DOLLARS AND CENTS. 


259 


to square my accounts. That is the reason I am play- 
ing the philosopher just now, and have no wants. 
Really and truly I don’t want any thing but those 
beaded slippers I saw at Fox & Kennard’s the other 
day.” 

“ Want them, or wish them ? ” asked Miss Bond. 

“Well, as I don’t really need them, I suppose I 
ought to say wish,” returned Mollie. “ When I leave 
St. Mary’s I may go to parties, and then I’d have use 
for them.” 

“ Beaded slippers are a vagary that will probably 
go out of fashion long before you leave St. Mary’s. 
You remind me of a girl who was here before you 
came, who invested four months’ allowance in an 
opera-cloak she had taken a fancy to, though she knew 
there was not the slightest probability of her attending 
the opera for several winters to come. Poor thing ! 
She was always in debt after that drain on her pocket- 
money, and I am afraid (from the way she was talked 
about here after she went home) that some of her 
many debts remained unpaid. That is the great 
trouble with school-girls who spend their own money 
freely ; they are too apt to take the same liberty with 
other people’s. Avoid debt if you can, no matter if 
you have to do without not only beaded slippers, but 
a great many other things much more necessary to 
one’s comfort.” 


260 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


XLIX. 

ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP. 

“ A sudden thought strikes me ! Let us swear an eternal friend- 
ship.” — Canning. 

“ Of course I shall be glad to go home next week,” 
remarked Laura Lamar one evening toward the mid- 
dle of June; “ but it will nearly break my heart to 
part from Fanny Kirby.” 

“ Let me see,” said Hattie Hammond, beginning to 
count on her fingers. “ Fanny Kirby is the fifth 
dearest friend you have had since last October.” 

“No such thing ! ” exclaimed Laura. 

“There was Ruth Wayland, to begin with,” Hattie 
went on. “She hadn’t been here two days before 
you were dead in love with her.” 

“ I fell in love with her beautiful dark blue eyes,” 
returned Laura ; “ but when we became better ac- 
quainted she contradicted and corrected me at such a 
rate, no matter what I said, that I could not go on 
loving her.” 

“Laura cannot go on loving any one,” observed 
Ellen Gordon. “ Her autograph album is a sight — it 
has so many leaves torn out that were written on by 
her former dearest friends ; and when she was in our 


ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP . 


261 


room she used to keep it smelling all the time of 
burnt locks of hair.” 

“ What nonsense ! ” exclaimed Laura ; but she spoke 
angrily enough to convince all her hearers that there 
was some foundation for Ellen’s charge. 

“First Ruth Way land,” said Hattie, “and then 
Minnie Charles came next.” 

“Ugh! that Minnie Charles!” returned Laura. 
“I was glad when she went home. She was the 
most selfish girl I ever knew in my life, and that ” 
(glancing meaningly at Ellen Gordon) “is saying a 
great deal. I’ll admit that, for a while, I did think 
she was an angel, but I wasn’t long in learning that 
she was angelic only on the outside. She never even 
made a pleasant speech unless there was something to 
be gained by it.” 

“Fell out with number one,” observed Mollie 
Archer, “ because she was a particular friend, and 
with number two because she was selfish. Laura, 
my dear, ‘ thou art not false, but thou art fickle ! ’ ” 

“1 am sure that was reason enough for cooling off 
toward them,” replied Laura. “ Don’t you think so, 
Mrs. Duval ? ” 

“I am afraid your friendship is not the real thing,” 
answered that lady. “ It seems to me that if I were 
very fond of a school-mate I could go on loving her, 
even if she did rather frequently correct my mis- 
statements; and if selfish people were to have no 


262 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


friends this would be a very unfriendly world indeed, 
selfishness being about the commonest of all human 
failings.” 

“ Let me see who came next on the list,” said Hat- 
tie, who seldom let go a victim till she had tormented 
her out of all patience. “ Ah, yes ; the third was 
Carrie Westbrook, who told you that her college 
cousin fell in love with you the day he saw you in the 
parlor. You doted on Carrie till that cousin of hers 
graduated and went home, and then you discovered 
that she was not a congenial spirit.” 

“Well,” exclaimed Laura, now thoroughly out of 
temper, “ one thing is certain, and that is that I never 
claimed you as a dear friend or as a cheap friend ! 
You are, without exception, the most disagreeable 
girl I ever saw in my life.” 

“ I hate school-girl friendships,” said Hattie, loftily 
(she was the nearest approach to a strong-minded 
woman in embryo that could have been found in the 
school) ; “ there is something so niminy-piminy about 
them.” 

“There is something decidedly feminine about 
them, if that is what you mean by niminy-piminy,” 
observed Mrs. Duval. 

“I suppose there are reasons that would make it 
right for one to give up a friend ?” said Mollie. 

“Certainly,” replied Mrs. Duval. “If Ruth Way- 
land were a godless instead of a particular girl 


ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP. 


263 


Laura would have been perfectly right in dropping 
her just. as soon as she made the discovery; and if 
Minnie Charles were bad-liearted instead of selfish 
no one could be blamed for renouncing her as a 
friend.” 

“ So godlessness and bad hearts are good and suffi- 
cient reasons for sending one’s friends to the right- 
about,” observed Sue Mansfield. “ Any thing 
else?” 

“ Many other things — duplicity for one. You may 
forgive a school-mate for deceiving you, but don’t 
make a friend of her again.” 

“No necessity for giving me that advice,” said 
Mollie. 

“I shall never forget that Serena Bidwell, who 
roomed with me last year, and whom I doted on for a 
time, d la Laura, while she, in return, pretended to 
fairly idolize me. I believed in that girl for just one 
week, and then I happened to hear her and Pauline 
Legare talking about me, and my eyes were opened 
for good and all. It is dreadfully trying to make 
such discoveries. For some time afterward I didn’t 
believe there was any faith to be found in school- 
girls.” 

“That was foolish,” returned Mrs. Duval. “You 
should have judged your school-mates by yourself, not 
by Serena Bidwell. As long as we feel there is any 
good in ourselves it is only fair to trust there may be 


264 


E VEN1NGS A T SCHO OL. 


good in our fellow-creatures. As Miss Muloch says, 

‘ People do not sufficiently remember that, in every 
relation of life, as in the closest one of all, we take 
one another for better, for worse.’ ” 

U I think I understand that,” said Maggie Yates. 
44 When we take our friends we ought to keep them, 
no matter if they are more selfish, or cross, or dis- 
agreeable generally than we expected to find 
them.” 

“ Yes,” replied Mrs. Duval; “but if we find them 
to be low-principled, or vulgar-minded, or dishon- 
orable, or bad-hearted, we must drop them as we 
would live coals. And if we find that they are 
disposed to scoff at religion, we must drop them 
more quickly still. It is well enough to treat them 
politely, but we might as well take rattlesnakes for 
friends.” 

“I think,” observed Sue, musingly, “that good 
people — I mean those who try to be good — make 
the most satisfactory friends. This occurred to me 
yesterday when Mr. Haas showed me his 4 muzzer’s ’ 
photograph that he had just received from Saxe- 
Ooburg-Gotha, or wherever she lives. He told me 
she was a widow, and he her only son ; whereupon I 
asked why she did not follow him to this country. 
4 O,’ replied he, 4 she has her friends and her prayer- 
meetings where she is now, and it wouldn’t do, at her 
age, to give them up.’ ” 


ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP. 


265 


“ That reminds me,” said Mrs. Duval, “ of the lines 
in the Ancient Mariner : 

“ * 0, sweeter than the marriage-feast, 

’Tis sweeter far to me 
To walk together to the kirk 
With a goodlie companie. 

To walk together to the kirk, 

And there together pray ; 

While each to his great Father bends, 

Old men, and babes, and loving friends, 

And youths and maidens gay.’ ” 


266 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


L. 

LETTER- WHITING. 

“ The sooner the better 

You send me a letter.” — M ary Howitt. 

44 4 It may be for years and it may be forever ! ’ ” 
sail g Mollie Archer on the last evening of the school 
term. 

44 Does that refer to the time we shall be parted?” 
asked Miss Bond. 44 1 was under the impression that 
our vacation was to last only about three months and 
a half.” 

44 Miss Bond, you have neither music nor poetry in 
your soul,” rejoined Mollie. 44 There is no use in try- 
ing to be sentimental when you are in hearing. You 
are going to remain here all summer, I understand, 
and you do not ask any of us to write to you to cheer 
you in your solitude.” 

44 If I were to ask you,” replied Miss Bond, 44 of 
course you would promise to do so, and then you 
would probably forget your promise. Besides, I am 
no great admirer of school-girl epistles. There is sel- 
dom any thing in them.” 

44 Mine are written on superfine Irish-linen paper 
and in my best running hand,” observed Ellen Gordon. 


LETTER- WRITING. 


267 


“ I once liad a letter from you,” returned Miss Bond. 
“ It began in the middle of the first page and averaged 
about three words to the line all the way through. 
You spread out your letter thinly, as step-mothers are 
said to butter their children’s bread, and what there 
was of it might have been a great deal more natural 
and like yourself. For instance, at least one word in 
ten was underscored, while, in speaking, you seldom 
throw much emphasis on a word, even when emphasis 
would seem natural.” 

“Well,” exclaimed Ellen, flushing up, “I do not 
think I’ll ever inflict another letter on you.” 

Miss Bond laughed. 

“Don’t be a humbug, Ellen,” said she. “You 
wrote last summer because you wished me to attend 

to something you had forgotten in X . This you 

mentioned only in a postscript, but nevertheless it was 
your reason for writing. Do not try to disguise busi- 
ness notes as friendly letters ; it seldom imposes on 
any one. If there is any matter you would like me 

to see to in X write again without hesitation ; but 

the next time mention your business first of all, and, 
that being disposed of, write to me as you would talk 
to me, and don’t throw in so many ‘ dears ’ for the 
purpose of filling up.” 

“ Bertha ITolt, when she was leaving this morning, 
condescended to ask me to write to her,” said Mollie ; 
“but I begged to be excused, as I don’t care to write 


268 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


essays during vacation. She herself writes something 
in that line for letters, and naturally she would expect 
me to do the same.” 

“How do you know?” asked Maggie Yates. 

“ She read one of them to me once, and, mistaking 
it for a Saturday composition, I politely said I thought 
Mrs. Southgate would be very much pleased with it. 
‘ It isn’t for Mrs. Southgate, it is for mother,’ replied 
she. ‘ Well,’ thought 1, 4 if my mother were to receive 
an essay on “Filial Devotion” from me she would be 
likely to send it back with a note advising me to hand 
it in to Mrs. Southgate.’ My letters to mamma are a 
kind of one-sided conversation. I write a sentence, 
and then stop and ask myself, ‘ What would she say 
to that ? ’ and then my next sentence is a reply to what 
I imagine she would say.” 

“You must write to me in that style during vaca- 
tion,” observed Sue Mansfield. 

“ I haven’t imagination enough,” returned Mollie. 
Only 6 them above ’ can tell what you are going to say 
on any occasion.” 

“That is only an excuse,” rejoined Sue. “With 
you it is ‘out of sight, out of mind.’ Now, I usually 
like people better in their absence than when they 
come around bothering me, and so I average about 
three letters a week during vacation.” 

“ I pity the poor wretches who are written to on 
your cross days,” observed Kate Drury. 


LETTER- WRITING. 


269 


“ My crossness never gets into my letters,” returned 
Sue. “Mamma remarks that about them. There are 
times when I am so blue that I could almost commit 
suicide, and then I write what papa calls 6 rollicking 
letters.’ I know you do not believe me, but it is so, 
nevertheless.” 

“I don’t doubt it in the least, because I have seen 
just the reverse of it,” said Belle Templeton. “ I have 
a cousin who, when she visits us, is excellent company, 
but who never writes any but the most doleful letters 
imaginable. In giving neighborhood news she seems 
to go out of her way to pick up distressing things to 
write about. She tells us who are sick, and who are 
dead, and who have lost their property, and who have 
been turned out of the Church ; but she doesn’t say 
who are married, and who have come into property, 
and who have been converted. It makes mamma 
miserable to read her letters.” 

“ I have a cousin,” said Mollie, u who doesn’t conde- 
scend to give neighborhood news, either good or bad. 
She writes about the ravages of the Asiatic cholera in 
Turkey and the political situation in France and the 
state of affairs in Washington, seeming to forget that 
papa and mamma read the papers occasionally.” 

“My favorite correspondent,” observed Miss Bond, 
“ is a ten-year-old niece of mine, who is very back- 
ward in her studies and regards herself as the dunce 
of the family. She was quite startled when I first 


270 


EVENINGS AT SCHOOL. 


asked her to write to me. 4 Why, Aunt Rose,’ said 
she, ‘I cannot write a letter worth reading. I am not 
educated enough. All I can write about is little 
things — how the new stair-carpet looks, and what the 
baby has learned to say, and how many young ducks 
we have. You wouldn’t care to read such stupid 
letters.’ 4 The very kind of letters I do care to read,’ 
replied I. 4 Your elder sisters always forget to men- 
tion little things in their letters.’ ” 

44 It makes me tired,” said Laura Lamar — 44 there 
goes the last fine I shall pay for slang this term! 
— but as I was saying, it annoys me excessively to 
receive letters with the last page filled with ques- 
tions. It seems to me they are put in only to fill up, 
and I never think of answering them unless the letter 
is from mamma or some other person of importance.” 

44 1 hate sense-of-duty letters,” observed Sue. 44 1 
don’t care to have people write to me unless they 
really wish to do so. Those who complain of owing 
letters — -just as though letters were money — and say 
they must write to this one or that one need never 
trouble themselves to write to me.” 

44 Well,” said Miss Bond, 44 whether you write from 
a sense of duty or for pleasure remember, all of you, 
that 4 a letter, timely writ, is a rivet in the chain of 
affection.’ ” 


THE END. 


* 







































ft 







\ 


✓ 






I 









































































































































\ 


« 






□ □□34L>373fl4 



